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by null_bdh



Series: Fix Yourself [2]
Category: Infinity Train (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Childhood Friends, Digital Art, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Grace and Simon finally each get Some Fucking Therapy™, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Post Season 3 Finale, Simon lives, The Real Villain Was The Train All Along, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26509885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/null_bdh/pseuds/null_bdh
Summary: Grace finally gets off the train after leaving Simon behind and tries to rebuild her life, but the train finds ways to follow her still.A post-train "Simon survived the Book 3 finale" fanfic. This is a followup to the previous fic of this series but reading it is not required!
Relationships: Simon Laurent & Grace Monroe, Simon Laurent/Grace Monroe
Series: Fix Yourself [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927435
Comments: 162
Kudos: 367





	1. Chapter 1

It hadn't been easy. None of it. First, it had been seeing her number go down so fast she thought it had broken, then seeing it stabilize and feeling powerless to change it. She'd felt so dumb, remembering how confident she'd been telling off Simon before going off on her own, she eventually ended up going back to one of her old ways, putting gloves on. It must've been of use somehow, because a couple of weeks later, a door had appeared out of nowhere and as Grace removed her glove, she finally saw the fated 0 she'd been so desperate to get to for these past few months. At last, an exit. Her ten year long ride had ended. 

* * *

Getting back was rough. The train had given her a ride back to where it had picked her up in the first place, the police station. The decision not to ask law enforcement for help didn't take her more than a few seconds. It was hard to leave the place without looking guilty, because she certainly did _feel_ guilty. She'd never be judged for them in this world, but Grace would always very clearly remember each and every one of what she almost lovingly called her "train sins", not that anyone would have understood what she was on about. 

Her home was gone, her parents had moved away, but when she finally did find them, she was pleasantly surprised to see they hadn't divorced. Not only that, but she now had a little sister. 

She was worried they wouldn't recognize her, but the second her mother opened the door to greet her, her eyes filled with tears, recognizing the daughter she'd lost. 

They asked little questions. It was obvious Grace had gone through some heavy things she didn't want to talk about but as she reassured her parents she hadn't been abused in any way, they quickly stopped pressing her for answers, focusing more on the relief that was finding out their (previously sole) daughter was alive. 

She was way behind on her education, and while she had some ideas as to what she wanted to do with her life as an adult, Grace had insisted on at the very least getting a high-school diploma through online classes. No one there to judge her on her age, her mannerisms, social awkwardness or her looks. It was nice. 

Her little sister, bless her soul, wasn't even half upset at the idea of suddenly gaining a sibling. After all, Grace had been for all these years an elusive, almost mythical figure her parents referred to gravely and solemnly while refusing to give away any actual information on who she was as a person. Her candor reminded Grace of Hazel. But, as she was settling back into a more normal life, the train and the memories that came with it slowly faded to the back of her mind. 

* * *

"I'm going ouuut," Grace whisper-shouts at her mother, who doesn't respond. She appears to be hyperfocusing on her laptop. Work. If she'd noticed her, she probably would've said something generic like "take it easy" or something. 

The night is dark, but Grace simply can't fight her craving for some good old off-brand ice cream. The nice thing about being an adult is, you get to do all the things you desperately wanted to do as a kid, except now you have the money to do it, and no one can stop you. 

Grace doesn't wander out of her parent's home very often, though. She doesn't have any friends out there and doesn't really know how to make them to begin with. The one place her 'kidnapped for her entire adolescence' status doesn't negatively impact her ability to bond with others is the internet. Grace was tempted at some point to try and reach out to other ex-passengers of the train, but then quickly realized there wasn't much good she could do with that, so instead she's been catching up on the humongous load of TV shows she's been missing for the past decade and bonds with others over it. It's much easier to talk about some random TV character's psychology than her own. There's an inherent amount of empathy people automatically allocate to fictional characters they like, so who cares if no one knows what happened to her? It's just better to focus on interests that don't directly relate to her or her life story.

One other way Grace has found to ground herself back into this world is her appearance. It was tough to make, but ultimately, the choice to cut off her dreadlocks was a good one. For starters, being bald fits her surprisingly well. But not only is the thing easy to maintain, it also makes it so she doesn't catch herself staring into a mirror for too long. Nothing to see or fix here. 

Going from picking her clothes going by how practical they were for combat and climbing to how comfortable they are to wear is also a big change. While her father occasionally gives her disapproving looks if she stays in baggy sweatpants for too long, both parents are content buying her clothes she probably wouldn't have been allowed to wear at one of their fancy parties.

And as she moves through the dim-lit streets of the middle sized city her parents moved in, she feels pretty happy about the batwing turtleneck sweater she's wearing. Her sleeves are always pulled back, so whenever doubt seeps in, she can easily check her right arm and note it is devoid of any glowing number. She can't help but let out a subtle sigh of relief every time she looks at it.

* * *

It's late, so most convenient stores are closed, and Grace ends up venturing farther away from home than she'd originally planned. Finally, she spots on the corner of the next block a glowing sign indicating the store there is open. 

Without focusing on her surroundings, Grace steps in and decisively goes to pick up a pint of ice cream, preferably a peanut butter flavored one. Then, on her way to the check-out counter, she notices energy drinks lined up, right next to the alcohol section. That sight puts a smirk on her face- her 21st birthday is next month, but that hadn't prevented her from getting shitfaced with Simon in the Spirits Car, which to their teenage stupor did not in fact have any undead beings in it, and instead just contained an outrageous collection of alcoholic beverages. In spite of how fun that new experience had been for them, the resulting massive hangover had made it sure they spent the rest of their stay on the train avoiding that car. One of her funnier 'train sins'. Well, one of hers and Simon's. 

Simon. 

As Grace puts down two pints of ice cream and a pack of energy drinks, she realizes she's not just thinking about Simon. She's reading his name. As she raises her eyes, they meet with the cashier's, who's staring at her with a confused expression on his face. He has long, messy blond hair that covers a part of his face, a long nose, and piercing eyes that Grace knows all too well. Their mouths open to talk at the same time, but they're both equally unable to say anything. Grace checks his name tag again. Simon. There's no mistake as to who this is. She notices he's wearing long sleeves under his uniform, and thick latex gloves he's probably been passing off as part of his uniform too. His ears are pierced, and his hair is longer than it's ever been. He kinda looks like a metalhead, only one that seems like he's about to lose it. 

  


Grace realizes she looks a lot more different from how she did when they last saw each other than he does, so he probably is feeling a lot more confused than she is. Only, he's seen her reaction to his appearance, and her reaction to his own reaction, so now, he knows, that she knows, that he knows. That she knows. 

Grace lowers her eyes again. 

"It's gonna melt."

"What?"

"My ice cream, it's gonna melt. I wanna eat it when it's not melted." 

"Oh- wait, sure, sorry, hang on-" Simon blubbers as he fumbles around and quickly scans Grace's ice cream and pack of energy drinks, and puts them in a plastic bag. 

Without a word, Grace swipes her credit card against the terminal in front of her. 

"Thanks, Simon. I'm going, now." Grace blurts out as she picks up her bag and mechanically walks out of the store. Simon just looks at her go, eyes wide and his mind in a lot of confusion. What the hell was that? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short chapter, but next one is looking to be at least twice as long!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace finds Simon in order to have a long overdue, painful, and uncomfortable conversation.

Without even really noticing she's doing it, Grace starts walking faster and faster, and ends up bolting to her home in a matter of minutes. When she comes in, completely out of breath, her mother finally raises her head to look at her. 

"What's going on, what were you doing?" 

"I, uh, I had ice cream," Grave says, breathing heavily as she shows the bag she's holding to her mother, "can't have it melting on me." 

They maintain eye contact for a moment, as Grace's mother tries to read her daughter's face, then she sighs and goes back to her laptop. "Don't stay up for too long, it's already 2AM. Just because you're not a child anymore doesn't mean you don't need sleep." 

"Sure. Goodnight, Mom."

* * *

In the end, this whole thing has spoiled Grace's appetite for ice cream, so after placing it in the freezer, she ends up lying on her bed, lights out, staring at her ceiling. What to think of this?

Some part of her wants to feel overjoyed at the thought Simon actually managed to get off the damned train. Another just can't forget the horror of being pushed off a train to her death by someone she thought of as her best friend.

And thinking about how close she and Simon used to be only makes the memory of that betrayal more painful and scary. If someone in that strong a relationship with her can just turn around and try to hurt her, then who can she ever be truly safe around? But on the other hand, that was Simon with numbers covering his entire body, and the one she saw earlier had none… So how is she supposed to react? 

Everything about this just seems deeply unfair- she feels like she's either supposed to forgive Simon since, by virtue of being off the train, he is now by definition a better person, or she has to keep living in fear because of the things Simon did to her after losing his mind to the Apex and the train. Either way, the fucking train wins. It's infuriating. 

_"I wish he'd just stayed a passenger,"_ Grace catches herself thinking and immediately regrets it. She wouldn't wish this fate on anyone, no matter how much she hates them. But then the memories of her slumber parties with Simon overlap with ones of Simon leaving her stuck in her tape, and those of laughing and falling asleep next to him overlap with ones of him pushing her off the train. All of them still are so vivid, the ache she feels in her chest and her guts is unbearable.

With her mind racing like that, Grace only now realizes she's most definitely having a panic attack- so much about taking it easy. 

Grace closes her eyes, extends her arms to the ceiling then opens her eyes again. Her arms are bare, as expected. No numbers. Only the street lights outside give off the glow necessary to even make out her arms in the darkness of her room. She takes a deep breath and repeats the process a dozen of times. 

It’s only after about 2 minutes after calming down she notices a small silhouette standing at her door. “Grace? Are you asleep?”

Her sister.

“Heeeyyy Julie, what are you doing up this late?” Grace tries to say as casually as possible.

The little girl hops on her tippy-toes to Grace’s bed and sits on the carpet right next to it, her head resting right on Grace’s covers.

“I had a secret feeling you were being sad. Also, I heard you cry.” Julie says with a small voice.

Grace gives her a sad smile. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m fine, now.”

“Is it because of that time you were gone for really long?”

“I… Yeah, yeah, it kind of is.”

“What happened?”

Julie looks at her with big, shiny eyes. They remind her of Hazel’s.

Grace takes a deep breath.

“I, uhm, I was a passenger, on a train. I didn’t really know what I was doing when I got on board but, well, once I was there, I couldn’t just get off. And some of the things that happened on this train… A lot of them, actually…. Those things were really bad. And they make me feel bad whenever I have to think about them.”

Julie squints.

“Does the train exist or are you just making a met- a met-.... A Metformin?”

Grace smiles. “ _A Metformin._ ” 

“Yeah, a Metformin. Like when you say something to mean something else.”

She chuckles. “I think you meant to say ‘metaphor’, Metformin is that medication grandpa takes during lunch.”

The little girl’s eyes widen. “Oh, yeah, that! Some things make way more sense, now.”

Julie seems lost in her thoughts for a few seconds, then looks up at Grace. 

"I forgot what I was asking."

"You asked if the train was real."

"Right!"

"I'm not sure how to answer that. I don't know that the train was real, but what I went through… _That_ was definitely real. It's…. It's gotta be." 

Julie nods as if she were an expert on the subject. "I see. Well, it's good you're back now, right?" 

"It is," Grace answers with a small smile on her face. 

* * *

The day after, Grace heads out in the afternoon after having spent most of the day studying for her online exams. She's gotten a lot less work done than she'd initially planned, but she just can't focus on anything now that she knows Simon is around. It's not even about feeling threatened or intimidated by him, or even getting closure. Simon is the only other human being she knows in this reality who's survived the train. She needs to know she's not crazy, that all of it really happened. She needs to confront Simon. 

* * *

The young man she finds at the cash register is most definitely _not_ Simon. He looks about 16 and his dark hair is cut short. 

"... Can I help you, ma'am?" 

_" 'Ma'am'...I'm 20!"_ Grace thinks to herself, amused. 

"I, uh, I was looking for Simon?" 

The boy thinks for a brief moment then his face lights up. "Oh, mysterious night shift dude! Yeah, he's not here. Because, well." 

_It's day._ Grace manages to repress the urge to slap herself for being such an idiot.

"Why are you lookin' for him, ma'am, got a crush?" The cashier teases. Grace doesn't know what face she's making, but it's apparently the kind to make the boy immediately correct himself. "OR NOT! Haha, I'll just… Uh… Wanna buy anything?" 

"No. When did your shift start?"

"Uh, like 7AM?" he answers without thinking. 

"Thanks." Grace says and speed-walks back home. She'll catch Simon next morning when his shift ends. 

She ends up spending the rest of the day playing Go Fish with her little sister. 

* * *

Too anxious about missing Simon again, she arrives at the convenience store at 5AM. It's cold and the sun hasn't risen yet. The sky is a deep, beautiful shade of royal blue, getting slightly lighter and lighter as the minutes go by. From the corner of her eyes, Grace can spot Simon working inside. He's facing away from her, but his long hair and peculiar way of picking things up make it impossible to mistake him for anyone else. Finally, as the sky goes from dark to a lighter blue, to purple, pink and now orange, Simon notices Grace standing outside. It's hard to read his expression at this distance, but Grace sees him immediately check the time on his cash register then frantically run to the back of the store to change. Only a couple of minutes later, he runs out to Grace, his chest visibly rising in rhythm as he breathes heavily, apparently trying to calm down. 

"You're, you, uh, you came back." Simon blurts out. 

Grace lets him catch his breath. 

"I mean. Hi, Grace." he says with a small voice that paradoxically sounds much deeper than she remembered it being. Upon closer inspection, his face too seems a bit more mature, angular. The Simon from Grace's memories now seems like even more of a child. 

"Hello, Simon." Grace answers calmly. 

"Do you wanna…?" Simon gestures to the street behind him. Grace knows there's a park further down that road. 

"Sure." 

It's nerve wracking, walking alongside Simon. Too much history. Too much feeling. Just… too much. Neither of them say a thing, too intimidated to properly start the conversation. 

* * *

When they finally stop at a bench, Grace makes the first move. 

" _It's you._ " she whispers. 

"It's me." he confirms. 

Grace is somehow still incredulous. 

"Simon Laurent." she pushes. 

"Grace Monroe." Simon responds with a small bow.

Holy shit. This is _real_. Grace's mind is running a million miles an hour. 

“So… You brought your number down to zero…?” she asks tentatively. 

Simon sits down and silently looks at his shoes for a few seconds. 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“... Is that why you’re covering up your arms and hands?" Grace asks, guessing all too well how the train would affect someone like Simon even after getting out. Someone like her. 

"Can't hide anything from you, huh?" he answers with a somber smile. "I'm just… afraid to look and suddenly find it's still there. _'What if I'm just having a very long and sadistic dream',_ you know?" Simon says, tilting his head in her direction. 

Grace checks her right arm. As always, it's completely bare. 

"Yeah. _Yeah,_ I know."

She looks up at the sky, trying to muster the courage to engage further. 

"I can't believe you're here. Like, _actually_ here, in front of me. It's… it's something."

"Yeah, I could tell you the same. I thought I was hallucinating for a moment when I saw you the other day. You look different, now, though." Simon says and motions at her with his head again. 

"...You don't. Well, save for the piercings and your whole…" Grace says as she waves her hand around the left side of her own face, "... you know."

Simon chuckles and looks down. "Yeah, that."

Grace feels a bit shitty for pointing it out. Of course he knows.

"I almost didn't notice, though. It looks like it's healed pretty well." she adds. 

Simon shrugs.

"My hair hides it pretty well, the shade gives me plausible deniability. But no one really gives me shit about it anyway." 

He pauses.

"You look nice."

* * *

God, this is hard. Is this what being an adult is, struggling to have conversations you've been hoping to get a shot at for so long? Being a kid was so much easier. 

Grace gulps nervously. 

"So what have you been up to? Did you see your family again?" she asks. Simon's face gives her an answer before he even opens his mouth. 

"I… No, I haven't, I… Let's just say I don't have a family." he says, looking in front of him, his eyes unfocused. 

"You never told me about your life before the train."

"You never asked."

Grace sighs. "I guess I didn't. It seemed like a touchy subject." 

"Still is."

"So, how did you…?" 

Simon scratches the back of his head. 

"I, uh, I never even checked. My number, that is. When the little guys from the Hospital Car were taking care of me, I didn't let them remove my bandages unless I had my eyes closed, and after a while I just… put on some gloves and left. I haven't looked since." 

Simon, fiddling with his hands, pauses and looks at Grace. 

"Watch out, your eyes might fall out if you keep this up," Simon says, and Grace realizes she's glaring at him like a mad woman. 

"One day, what do you know, a _portal_ opens. I take some stuff in my backpack, leave the train. Find myself in the middle of nowhere with no money or ID. That was a year ago." 

"And you… You didn't come looking for me?" 

Simon lets out an amused huff.

"Sorry to disappoint, but my main goal has mostly been 'finding food, money and shelter' up until now. It _is_ kinda messed up how my life was easier on the train. But, well, real life is… more predictable, which is its own comfort. And people here aren't as eager to kill me as ghoms were. And those didn’t even have guns!”

Grace chuckles quietly. Simon responds with a smile.

“I'm mostly surprised I managed to find a job so easily, I got really lucky on this one."

"And, well, you _are_ white." 

Simon laughs awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess that probably did help too." 

Grace grimaces at him. 

"I'm _teasing_ you– I'm in no place to talk: my parents are loaded, I've never had to worry about money even once in my entire life."

Out of habit, Grace reaches to her head to play with hair she no longer has. To avoid looking too awkward, she just massages the back of her head. Simon inadvertently mimics her.

"You know, it's funny, for some reason, while I was gone, I think I was secretly hoping my disappearance would've caused their lives to fall apart. Divorce, heartbreak, depression, I don't know. Turns out they just kept on living. I even have a little sister now!" Grace perks up as she tells Simon, "She's pretty great."

Simon responds with a genuine smile. Warmth. 

"But yeah, like… I guess I thought they'd have at least 'learned a lesson from this' or something, but they're still obsessed with work and status, only they don't treat me like a child anymore…. Probably because, well…" 

"You're not a child anymore."

“Yeah.”

* * *

"I need you to understand how terrifying people like you are, Simon." Grace says suddenly. 

The look Simon gives her in return is… something. A mix of pain, understanding, and a deep sadness. Maybe the train did teach him something.

“You know that whole ‘hurt people hurt people’ BS slogan you get lectured with at school when they do their stupid bullying PSAs? Well, I’m _really_ feeling it right now because _boy_ do I have some trust issues after what you did to me.“ Grace says painfully, her voice shaking in spite of her best efforts to control it.

“And even now- we’re having this, this honestly _pretty chill_ , pretty casual conversation, and it almost feels like we’re friends again! And- and I know you’ve changed _somewhat_ at the very least, because you’re here, but my blood is just _boiling_ and telling me to run away.”

Simon is looking at his shoes, trying to contain whatever his actual reaction to Grace’s anguish is. He takes a deep breath.

“There’s nothing I can say to explain my actions back then- you already know enough about me to know what kind of state of mind I was in, what made me think the way I thought. And I don’t really have any excuses either.” Simon says, trying to fight the urge to mumble his words by enunciating them as clearly as he can muster. “I tried thinking about what I could’ve told my past self to try and change his mind, but I just couldn’t find anything. No matter what you could’ve said, Grace, none of it would have changed a thing. It was all completely out of your hands.”

Grace doesn’t expect the impact those words have on her. In spite of how hard she’s been trying to keep a straight face in front of Simon, the wave of relief that washes over the grief and guilt she’s been accumulating for the last few years is so overwhelming she starts sobbing softly.

_"There's nothing I could've done. It wasn't my fault."_

“I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done to you, to the Apex, to the denizens. And also for not apologizing sooner,” Simon continues, looking at Grace shake. He’s fighting the urge to put a hand on her back to comfort her, knowing very well it most likely won’t have the intended effect.  
“…Yeah, the one thing I’ve been regretting the most besides all that was not apologizing to you before you left the train.”

Grace wipes tears off her face.

“Would you have meant it though?” she asks.

Simon looks up, genuinely mulling the question over.

“At least a bit, I’d like to think,” he says with melancholy, “But not enough. Not like I mean it now.”

Grace sniffs and lets out a deep sigh. 

"Be honest- are you still angry with me?" she asks. This is the real test. And Simon seems to be aware of it too. He takes his time to find the right answer. 

"...No, back then, I pretty quickly figured I'd misdirected my anger. But I'm not gonna lie, I'm…"

Simon takes a deep breath, then audibly gulps.

"I'm still hurt. And I don't want- I don't want to make it sound like it's your fault- it's not-, because I do have pain associated with you, but it's… not your responsibility. If that makes any sense." he concludes. 

Grace thinks about the denizens they both hurt and killed, the cars they both pillaged, the kids they both held back. She also thinks about Simon's reaction when she said they needed to stop- to _change_. Yeah, it does make sense. 

Simon's teenage voice resonates in her mind, as it has so many times these past few years.

_"You lied to me!", "You betrayed me!", "YOU OWE ME EVERYTHING!"_

Except now, another one is pushing back– louder, _older,_ and no longer mad with anger. 

_"It was all completely out of your hands." "It's not your fault." "I'm_ **_sorry_ ** _."_

Grace puts her head in her hands.

"I'm so mad at myself for needing _you_ to tell me this," she sobs, "because I already _knew_ it, I… I just couldn't allow myself to fully believe it. I feel so dumb."

"You know, I've had people tell me the truth many times, and it still took me almost dying and spending almost two years on my own to finally believe it. I think you're doing pretty great." Simon responds awkwardly.

Grace simply nods in response, still crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was going to be longer but as I saw myself get carried away, I decided to stop it there as it felt right. I'll work the rest of what I've written into the next chapter!  
> I hope this wasn't too uncomfortable to read- it was meant to, of course, because apologizing, be it for small thing or horrific actions rarely is something pleasant, regardless of which side of the apology you are on, but this might echo painfully with some personal experiences. For me, it was pretty cathartic to write, though!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace tries to get the last remaining bits of The Train out of her life while somehow reconnecting with Simon.

These past few years, and arguably, many of the ones that came before as well, Grace has been pretty talented at bottling up her feelings. Partially because she has a hard time connecting with others in general and doesn't want to come off as weird, and a lot of it because no one can really relate to the very specific experience of having been kidnapped by a magical train for their entire adolescence. And now, at least for the duration of this encounter, the spell is broken. Her emotional dam has been destroyed and tears are flowing freely. It’s not even just about letting herself feel or express emotions, but also about not caring about how she’s perceived while doing so. Simon is the last person on earth who will judge her for this. He’s the only person who shares her memories of the train, the only one able to prove she’s not crazy, and the only one who can apologize to her. It feels absurd, yet it totally makes sense to Grace. She’s definitely not gonna tell her therapist that the best person she’s talked to about her trauma so far is the very same one that caused it to begin with, though. For so long, Grace had been feeling like two phantom hands were strangling her but she realizes how tight their grip actually was only now that they’ve finally let go.

After a couple of minutes of trying to calm down and compose herself, she turns to Simon. Unlike her, he’s still got a pretty stoic expression on his face, but she can see in his eyes a glimpse of the conflicting emotions that are boiling inside him. He’s probably not allowing himself to express them for Grace’s sake. This is her moment, after all. For a second, Grace wonders if she’s being conceited again, but then decides she isn't. She’s _earned_ this apology, this deliverance. If the one who hurt her is giving her the gift of not making everything about himself in this moment, then she’ll gladly accept it.

Taking a deep breath, Grace finally manages to gather herself and turns to Simon. 

"Can you do me a favor? Or, well, it's more like… Can I do us both a favor."

Simon tilts his head, visibly intrigued. 

Sniffling, Grace looks at Simon's gloved hands. They're the last thing keeping her from finally being done with the train, once and for all. 

"Will you let me take these off?" she asks, pointing at them. 

She realizes this is a lot to ask, even in these circumstances. The kind of trauma this train has created is _infuriating_. 

Simon grimaces, then closes his eyes as his face scrunches up. 

"Do it."

There's a beat. Nothing happens. 

"... Grace?" Simon says, opening one eye. 

"... Please tell me it won't smell too bad when I take them off."

"I- _what-_ that- I do change my gloves and wash my hands regularly, Grace, _I just don't look at them!!_ " 

"Okay, okay!" Grace reassures with a laugh. Simon closes his eyes again and holds out his hands. He looks like he's about to be amputated.

"I'm doing the left first," Grace warns Simon.

She grabs the glove from the tip of his fingers, and swiftly, quickly, it slips off. Underneath, no numbers. Just a relatively regular hand, if not for the skin discoloration and lack of fingernails. Grace moves to the other glove. 

"Here we go", she says, and she puts Simon's trembling hand in hers. For a moment, unable to repress a caring urge, she just squeezes his fingers, trying in spite of everything to give him some comfort. And then, the glove is gone. 

Grace winces slightly at the state of Simon's right hand- the discoloration is much more pronounced, the skin much thicker, damaged and leathery-looking. But, no numbers. 

She lets out a sigh of relief, and with that her eyes start filling with tears again. Hesitantly, Simon slowly opens his eyes. 

He silently stares at his blank arms for a moment, then starts laughing softly. 

"It looks like I got a bunch of random skin transplants. Like, did anyone lose an arm- whose is this one, guys?" Simon calls out to an imaginary group of people. Awkwardly laughing to himself, he glares at his hands one more time. 

They're damaged, but free from the train. Just like him. Just like Grace. He turns his head and sees her overcome with relief, her eyes still wet. It's when he finds himself having to sniff loudly he realizes he's crying a bit too. This wasn't planned.

"I'm not gonna lie, I was kinda scared I'd find something glowing under there and find myself having to run for my life or something." Grace says, wiping a few tears and snot off her face. 

“I promise not to make any more murder attempts on you,” Simon professes solemnly, and Grace, who was already emotionally worn down enough to no longer be able to repress her tears, just simply and purely bursts into hysterical laughter.

“Oh- _oh my god_ ,” she tries to say in between uncontrollable wheezing and shaking, “fuck you, _god_ -” she slurs as she attempts to catch her breath, " _Fuck you, Simon Laurent,_ for making me laugh about something so traumatic, _you piece of shit_!”

As grim as the subject matter is, Simon laughs too. He probably shouldn't, but then again there's a lot of things he shouldn't have done and did anyway. There's no malice in their shared laughter though, only the bottled up emotions of two messed up kids that just had to come out, one way or another. 

* * *

The sun's a bit higher now, and the sky is light blue. The day is starting for everyone else too. Now that her tears are dry and her breathing slow again, Grace stands up to stretch her arms and legs while Simon yawns. 

"I think I'm going to go to sleep soon. You?" 

Grace mindlessly cracks the joints in her hands.

"Dunno. I'll probably go back home, take a short nap then try to study for my exams, it'll definitely be easier to concentrate now that I don't have… well… this. On my mind all the time." Grace says as she makes big circular gestures between her and Simon. Simon responds with a timid smile.

As he moves forward to stand up, Grace gives him the sign to wait with a hand. 

"I… Before you go, I need to tell you…"

The boy perks up. 

"I accept your apology. But I don't forgive you."

Simon scratches the back of his head. 

"That's better than anything I could've hoped for, honestly." he says. 

Grace feels the need to expand: "I don't even know if this is the kind of stuff that can even _be_ forgiven, you know, so… Ugh, I don't know. It was nice to see you, though." 

Simon nods. For a moment he opens his mouth as if to ask something but decides against it and closes it. Instead, he finally just responds "Yeah, same here."

There's a long moment of awkward silence there. Completely cutting Simon off from her life would have been a lot easier if he'd acted the way he did last time they saw each other, over 2 years ago. Present Grace is more than prepared to dismiss that kind of angry asshole, but she'd feel weird never seeing _this_ Simon again after the conversation they've just had. Hands on her hips, Grace lowers her head and sighs deeply.

"... Alright. You got a phone?" she asks, pulling her smartphone out of her hoodie.

"Uh, yeah, sure, hang on-" Simon answers, fumbling to find the small burner phone he keeps forgetting in his pockets.

Grace doesn't wait for him to find it. "What's your number?" she asks. Ah. Of course. 

Simon gives Grace his number, which she promptly punches into her phone then immediately puts it back in her pocket.

"Thanks. I'll text you if I wanna meet again." 

And just like that, she's gone. 

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur. Studying, playing with her sister, chatting with internet friends about a recent episode of a show they dislike but still watch for entertainment, eating ice cream at inappropriate hours. It's crazy how much easier life is now that she has such a big weight off her shoulders… And still. Grace finds herself thinking about Simon. _Current_ Simon. First comparing him to the one who hurt her, she ends up thinking back to the one that was her friend. Her _best_ friend. 

_"I don't have any obligation to think about him, now. He got out, he's got his own life, a job, and I need him just as little as he needs me right now."_ Grace thinks to herself. But she can't help but want to know more about him– Simon isn't out of her reach anymore. The question is, does he _deserve_ her attention? Grace thinks about it for a whole night before coming to the conclusion that moral judgements and questions don't really address the reason she's even thinking about this. _"Screw worthiness, I genuinely just want to talk to him again, there's no use trying to morally justify it. I deserve to do what I want."_

Apprehensive, Grace grabs her phone and sends Simon a text. 

**How are you doing?**

**(This is Grace, btw)**

Suddenly self-conscious, Grace remembers it's the middle of the night. Way to look desperate! But a few minutes pass, and… 

**_doin OK, I'm at work rn._ **

**_you?_ **

Grace considers her phone for a moment. 

**Just lying in bed and thinking about life's great mysteries.**

The next message arrives a couple of minutes later. 

**_currently the biggest mystery in my life is why this old lady dressed like a 90s dance instructor keeps shopping for groceries every week in the middle of the night_ **

**_is she afraid people will judge her for the way she dresses? or instead is it that her style is too radical for a commoner's eyes to bear? or maybe she's just a vampire. the world may never know_ **

Grace smiles at her screen. 

**You don't have a very eventful life, do you?**

**_… no :(_ **

Grace chuckles. She finds the situation both a little pathetic and pretty relatable. By most standards, her own life is pretty uneventful too, but in comparison to her previous life on the train, it's downright boring. 

" _I don't miss the trauma, but I certainly do miss the fun."_ Grace thinks. 

**Do you wanna hang out later today?** She texts after spending almost a full minute hovering her thumb over the send button.

**_sure. do you need my address?_ **

* * *

When Grace steps inside Simon’s apartment, she’s immediately distracted from her initial anxiousness by how bare the small place is. She’s used to the ‘rich people’ kind of bare, the kind that makes pompous assholes monologue about the beauty of minimalism. But the walls here are gray, undecorated for the most part aside from the few drawings taped above a sawhorse desk Simon seems to have built himself. There's a few cheap shelves, two chairs, basic kitchen equipment, none of them showing anything about who Simon is as a person, aside from the basic observation that he doesn't have a lot of money. Definitely _not_ chic. 

"Well?" Simon asks as he turns to Grace, showing off his apartment as if it were a palace. He's wearing a black oversized t-shirt and some cargo pants while Grace is wearing a soft sweater dress and some leggings. Somehow, she feels overdressed. 

"You, uh. You sure do have a bed frame." Grace deadpans. Simon laughs. 

"Believe me, that's the best compliment you could give me. It's hard trying to build a comfortable home when you have nothing, but I think this is a good start." 

"I guess I'm just surprised this place isn't a bit more… 'you'?" 

"Ah, yeah, I. I don't play with figurines anymore, or write novels," Simon says, "I think I don't do well with fiction." The implication behind those last words is not lost on Grace. 

"I mostly just paint nowadays," Simon continues, and he points Grace to his desk. There's cheap watercolor, a few brushes and lots of paintings of different flower arrangements.

"Yeah, I was honestly expecting to see some familiar stuff, like a memento? But I guess you didn't take anything with you." Grace says as she studies two coffee cups she find there, one with '#1 dad' printed on it, and the other with the words 'PAINT WATER DO **NOT** DRINK' scribbled on it with a sharpie.

Simon freezes. Grace immediately turns to him, squinting suspiciously at him. 

"Simon, what did you do."

He grimaces uncomfortably. 

"I'm. _Hrm_. I don't wanna creep you out." 

Grace raises her eyebrows. "Well, now you certainly have! But seriously, tell me, what did you take?"

Simon awkwardly walks up to one of his shelves to pick something up. Embarrassed, his face scrunches up as he hands Grace her own mask.

Now it's her turn to grimace.

"Oh noooooo, you didn't… Yeah, no, OK, Simon, that's definitely _some_ kind of creepy." 

"I- I couldn't take any of the stuff I'd made on the train, it didn't feel right, so I… Well, you said it, I took a memento!" Simon blurts out, flustered.

Grace squints at him again. He's kind of pathetic, in a weird, not entirely unlovable way. Well, he's trying to be better. 

She plays with the mask, feeling the familiar texture against her fingers. It's odd. 

"You can have it back, if you want." Simon proposes. 

Grace is lost in her thoughts for a moment, then looks back at Simon again. 

"It's weird, I don't really want it, but I also kind of… don't want _you_ to have it either. Not to be petty or anything, it's just…" She takes a deep breath. "... I don't know. I just don't want to think about it." 

Simon seems to understand the feeling. 

"I, uh, I might have an idea. Do you have a car?" he asks. 

* * *

Agreeing to suddenly go on a ride with a guy you barely know is not widely known as 'a smart move', to do it with a cliff as the destination even less so, and let's not talk about doing it with a guy who's tried to kill you by pushing you off great heights before. 

"I may not be the smartest." Grace suddenly blurts out after a few minutes of being in her mother's car with Simon in the driver's seat.

"... But?" Simon asks, waiting for the end of her sentence. 

"There is no 'but'. I guess I'm just slowly realizing I have pretty terrible survival instincts." Grace mutters. 

* * *

There's no denying it, the view _is_ pretty great. As Simon pulls up and parks the car, Grace can see a whole valley with a big forest and a large stream. A bunch of big rocks punctuate the scenery the way fancy words do her little sister's 'essays' about cartoon characters. 

"OK, this kind of slaps." Grace admits as she steps out of the car and starts walking towards the edge, mask in hand. Simon follows her closely, adjusting his coat as the wind up there is pretty chilly. Seeing him get closer in the corner of her eye, Grace can't help but slightly flinch reflexively. 

"I'm not going to push you off a cliff." Simon says with a slightly annoyed voice. 

"See, I hear you, I hear what you're saying, I see what you're bringing to the table, but also, boy you have a bad history of pushing people off tall places." Grace says with an only half ironic jokey voice. 

"I may have a body count- but so do you! For all I know, _you're_ throwing me off that cliff today."

"Don't give me any ideas, smartass." Grace says with an awkward smirk. 

As they get closer, Simon points to the edge and asks "Wanna sit there?" 

Grace's eyebrows furrow as she comically smirks. "See, this is the kind of white nonsense I was wary of. What is it with you people and wanting to die young? We can just sit here."

Simon gets closer to the edge to look down, then steps back to join Grace on the safer, less deadly rock formation she's elected to sit on.

"My views may have been slightly influenced by anime. This _is_ fine." he states as he plops down on a rock, legs crossed.

Looking at the scenery, Grace puts down her mask and absentmindedly starts rambling. 

"You know, I've been thinking." 

"Mh-hm."

"When you almost died from that ghom attack, and after I brought you to the hospital, for a moment I thought to myself 'Well, that's just karma', like, if you'd have died there, it might have somehow meant _something_ about The Train or destiny _-_ "

Simon is still facing the cliff, his head resting on his hands, but his eyes shift to look at Grace talking.

"...But then I remembered, I'd _saved_ you from one of these monsters back when we met too. And if I hadn't been there back then, you would've _died_ , and you were like… ten years old! Isn't that messed up?" 

"I'm starting to think that _maybe_ The Train isn't all that morally good and righteous." Simon says sarcastically. 

"Yeah, for real. I'm playing back the last year I spent there and nothing that special happened. I mean, I did grow, but I think I simply got out because I had a good day."

"I've kind of had a similar experience, actually. Not to try and take away the impact murder has on someone's character, but I don't feel like congratulating The Train for fixing problems _it_ caused."

"And so, no lessons were learned that day." Grace concludes solemnly. 

"You joke, but I'm attributing all that self-growth to my own efforts. I've spent over ten years on this goddamn train and it's taught me absolutely nothing." 

"You hear that? _You've spent ten years teaching us and we've learned absolutely nothing!!"_ Grace yells with a bright laughter as she stands up.

Simon snorts. "You're in a good mood." 

"I had no idea how good yelling felt. I should do it more often." she responds. 

"Well, now you know why I like this place so much. And why I brought you here."

"You brought me to yell? That's pretty good."

Simon stands up to get closer to the edge. 

“ _Fuck The Traaaain!_ ” he yells.

“Fuck The Traaaain!” Grace mimics.

“ _Fuck the chuuurch!_ ” Simon adds.

“Wait, why 'fuck the church'?” Grace asks.

Simon stops to think for a few seconds.

“Do you honestly want to believe in the kind of God that allows messed up, eldritch bullshit like The Train to exist?” he finally answers, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, good point. _Fuck the chuuuuurch!_ ” she yells to the wind, raising her arms. 

Smiling, Simon hands Grace her mask and bows. 

"Miss Monroe, if you will do me the honors…"

"Why, of course, Sire Mountcastle, wizard-knight of the greatest caliber." Grace responds with a little bow of her own. 

"You _did_ read it!" Simon whispers.

"Yes, and may I ** _never read it again_**!" Grace shouts with a big smile, and she chucks the mask into the air with all of her strength. Sunlight reflects on the gold of the mask as it rises and twirls in the air, until it starts falling and then disappears down in the forest with a mere twinkle. _"Bye bye, cursed train. See you never."_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was drawing the art for this chapter, I managed to write two more chapters (chap 5 is the longest one so far!). Oh boy. This chapter was a lot more light-hearted than the previous ones, but if you like awkward interactions and uncomfortable discussions about mental illness, worry not, more of that is coming. I'm all about multiple flavours in one dish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace grapples with some feelings and Simon gets a makeover.

"I can't believe I had so much fun." Grace mutters to herself with a shameful smile as she lets herself fall head first onto her bed. It just felt so good. Not just to express herself and not have to hide anything, but also to be able to laugh, and with _Simon_ of all people. Is that allowed? Isn't there a rule that says you shouldn't have genuine fun with people who've harmed you, who've tried to _kill_ you before? Grace feels like there should be. What kind of messed up person laughs about the most awful things they've ever lived through? Grace wonders if Simon feels the same way. 

Simon. 

Once again, it shocks her how easily she's integrating Simon back into her brain, into her _life_. How simple it is to think of him as a regular part of things. It feels so wrong and yet so right at the same time. Would Grace be this conflicted weren't she so lonely? Maybe the only reason she's so easily accepting of Simon is because he's the only real friend she's ever had, and there's no one else she can really confide in. God, she really needs to go out more and socialize. ...So does Simon, actually. Working at night probably doesn't help, but Grace assumes he's on that shift for a reason. All things considered though, he doesn't look as bad as he seems to think he does. The side of his face that got torn up during the ghom attack recuperated really well and as for his hands… Well, they'll take some getting used to, but they look more weird than outright ugly. 

_"Like I'm one to judge on appearances._ " Grace thinks to herself. Ironically enough, if there had been something that Simon hadn't been judgy about when they were on The Train, it was her transness. It was so easy to dehumanize denizens, Grace had been surprised at Simon's immediate acceptance when she'd come out to him. Well, so much for that- all it had taken was one fight between them for her to be turned into a Void, a nothing. Hating people is just so easy if you can contort your mind enough to justify it. Silently, Grace decides she'll never let anyone make her feel this way again. 

* * *

"What? No, no way I'm going to college- that's a scam." Simon tells Grace.

They've been meeting up once every few weeks, then days, and now it's pretty much part of their routine to meet up at dawn or late in the evening and just talk about whatever is on their mind at the time. 

"I mean, there _has_ to be something that interests you- and I doubt anyone can become a…. a doctor, an engineer, or even a historian without going to college." Grace responds. 

They're currently walking around the city, eating cookies Julie made the day before. It's cold and cloudy, and the sun is starting to go down. 

"OK, you have the money to pursue whatever you want, but I have neither the money nor the aspiration to go to college. What would I even study?"

"...I don't know. I honestly don't even know what _I_ wanna do once I get my high school diploma." Grace mumbles. 

Simon takes another cookie and munches on it while thinking. 

"...You could uh, work with children?"

"What? No, that's a terrible idea, I'm bad with kids." Grace says as she winces.

"What are you talking about, you're _great_ with kids." 

"I'm not putting down 'leader of baby's first death cult' on my résumé, Simon." 

"Ah, so really the issue is you're _too_ good with kids. Gotcha." Simon responds as he closes his eyes and puts on a fakely pained expression. 

"It's just… I'm scared I'll mess them up." Grace mutters, her hands firmly gripping the paper bag her sister's cookies are in. 

"Doing what? Teaching them the different colors of the rainbow?" Simon says, extending a hand. Grace hands him some more cookies. 

"Well, _actually,_ I was thinking of teaching dancing, but- _anyway_ , the point is, I don't trust myself with that kind of responsibility." 

Simon gives her a strange look, but says nothing. Instead, he just furiously munches on the cookies Grace just gave him. 

"You really are going to town on those, huh?" 

"Listen, they're tasty, and homemade food just generally tastes better than everything else. I'm way too used to eating processed garbage." Simon responds with his mouth still full. It makes him look goofy. 

After swallowing one final bite then wiping some crumbs off his cheeks, Simon sighs dramatically. 

"I have no idea what my future is going to be like. I don't have any real big interests right now, I'm just trying to build myself back up again, block by block, you know? It's a bit depressing to think about, but being able to make rent really is all I'm looking forward to each month. I'm not even sure I'll do much more than that in the future."

There's something painfully sad about what he's saying, and about the way he's saying it. He looks so resigned and complacent. It makes Grace almost want to throw up, and she doesn't really know why, until she realizes why that behavior is making her so uncomfortable: it's mirroring hers. He's lost, aimless, isolated. Just like her. Except Simon doesn't have a family to fall back on. 

* * *

Completely absorbed by their conversation, Grace forgets to split up halfway through her way back home and so does Simon. As she recognizes her own house at the end of the street, Grace stops dead in her tracks and suddenly her blood turns ice cold. 

" _Ssssshit, now Simon knows where I live! Fuck, fuck, fuck, Grace you idiot-"_

"Uh, are you OK?" Simon asks, worried by her sudden change of expression. 

"I, uh, no, yeah, it's fine, I'm just…" she mumbles. 

Simon's gears start turning. 

"Oh- do you want to avoid your family seeing me? That's- that's fine, understandable. I'll just go home now." he says with a smile, apologetic. 

That's not exactly the problem here but now Grace feels bad for him. Simon _does_ seem to be respectful of her boundaries. 

Looking up at the skies getting visibly cloudier and darker, Grace thinks for a bit and, biting her bottom lip and trying not to grimace too hard, she turns to Simon. 

"It's about to rain, and you don't exactly live next door. Do you wanna maybe, uh, come inside and chill until things look better?" 

This is bigger than it looks. Every time they meet up, it's far from where Grace lives, and as uncomfortable as it makes them both, she makes sure to invite Simon to cafés and pay for him to make up for all the walking. 

"I… I don't know, I don't wanna intrude… Plus, I'm sure I still have at least 10 minutes before-", and as Simon says those words, light flashes violently above them, and then a few seconds later they hear thunder roar. Almost immediately, rain starts falling. Simon grimaces comically, it looks like he's doing a speedrun of the 5 stages of grief. He sighs. 

"...OK, I'll race you to the door."

* * *

They're almost soaked to the bone when they erupt into the living room, trying not to spread too much mud on the wooden floor. They're both laughing profusely. 

"You look like you've got an octopus on your head." Grace snickers at Simon, "Or a really weird jellyfish. A _dead_ jellyfish." 

"You look like a fancy rock that was just polished. Thank god it's dark because otherwise you could blind someone with that." 

"Hey, this cranium? Is the most beautiful thing you will ever see." Grace says with a smirk as she tries to dry her head with the big sleeves of her sweater, but they're too wet already to help much. 

Suddenly, she notices her sister playing on the couch. A bunch of different toys are littered around. Youngest child syndrome really is a thing, huh? Their parents would _never_ have let Grace make such a mess. 

"Who's this?" Julie asks, pointing Simon with a Lego Star Wars ship. 

"This. is. Simon! He's…" Grace says and lingers. What is he to her?

"...Oh, I'm just-" Simon starts, but Grace cuts him off. 

"A friend," she completes, "Simon's my friend." 

For a brief moment, she doesn't know if this is too much, or not enough, but Simon's genuine expression of surprise and gratitude at her words makes her feel all warm inside. _He's glad to be her friend._

"It's nice to meet you. Your sister's told me a lot about you." Simon says to the little girl. 

Julie too seems to be happy about this; her face all bright, she exclaims "Grace, I didn't know you had friends!" 

Grace nearly combusts from sheer embarrassment. 

"I _have_ friends!" 

"I meant real life friends, the ones you can play football with." 

Simon chuckles and Grace can't help glaring at him for it, daggers in her eyes. She's not _that_ lonely!!! 

Meanwhile, Julie's stood up and is now walking decidedly in Simon's direction. 

"You have long hair," she points out, "like a girl." 

"Uh, yeah? I guess?"

"Is that why Grace shaved hers off? So you could have so much of it?" Julie presses. She seems genuinely concerned. 

"I… don't think so, I've had hair like that for a really long time." 

"I- Listen sweetie, I know you're really excited to meet a new person, but you're kind of starting to-" Grace tries to interject, but Julie has already grabbed Simon's hand and is now dragging him to the couch. 

"You _have_ to let me do your hair," she says, "Grace never lets me even LOOK at her wigs, it's _literally_ a crime."

Simon follows her lead and sits down on the floor, his back turned on Julie who's scrambling around the couch for her brushes, hair products and ties. Grace looks at him with a questioning face, emoting something along the lines of "You're really gonna let her do this to you?" 

Simon just shrugs in return, a small smile on his face. Suddenly though, his expression changes. A restrained mix of surprise and fear. Grace turns around. 

Mom. 

"Who is this boy?" Grace's mother demands. How on earth she managed to sneak up on her like that, Grace has no idea. 

"Uh, Mom, this is Simon, a friend. Simon, my mother…" she says, a bit embarrassed. 

Simon timidly waves his hand to say hi. 

"...Can I talk to you for a minute?" her mother asks with a grave look on her face, "... In private."

"Sure, I just, uh…" Grace says looking back at Simon as she follows her mother into the kitchen. 

"I'll be fine, I'm in good hands." Simon reassures as Julie starts frantically drying his hair with a towel. 

* * *

"So, you're bringing boys home, now? And without even asking me beforehand?"

"He's just a friend, Mom, I'm not… It was raining, and I thought it'd be rude of me to let him go home under this… deluge." Grace responds as she points to the window. And indeed, a real storm is raging outside. 

"You know that's not really what I'm concerned about. Grace, tell me the truth… Is this friend new, or from 'before'? Because you've never mentioned him before, but you two seem very close." 

Crap. Couldn't her mother have had that kind of insight back when she needed it the most?? Grace really doesn't want to have this conversation. 

"He… he is somewhat of an old friend, but, uh… We've only recently started reconnecting."

Beneath that mask of severity, Grace can see genuine concern on her mother's face. And fear. When something bad happens to a loved one, your mind often goes to dark places and you assume the worst. Looking at all the questions she asked when Grace came back, Grace's mother is at least 80% convinced her daughter was being trafficked. But truth is not something Grace can afford right now, not even- or actually, _especially_ with her mother. 

The best way to handle this is to mix truth and lie. 

"In spite of how intimidating he might look, Simon's my friend," Grace says carefully, "and he's not one to like getting in trouble- he's not dangerous." 

The long seconds her mother spends thinking about this feel like a chokehold. _"Please,_ **_please_ ** _believe this."_ Grace thinks as loud as she can. 

"... OK," Mom finally says, "but I want you to warn me next time you bring him home. And keep me updated on who you're hanging out with, I never know what you're doing when you go out." 

"I- sure Mom, I promise." 

Grace has to repress the need to sigh out of relief as her mother turns around to make herself some tea. Her aimless attempt at getting close to Simon again survives to live another day. 

* * *

"What are you doing??" Grace says as she comes back into the living room. 

"Accessorizing, _obviously._ Can you believe he's never worn nail polish before? Simon, tell her." Julie orders with confidence as she puts a bunch of colorful flower decorations in Simon's now braided hair. 

"I have in fact never worn nail polish before." Simon dutifully repeats as he slowly shakes his hands, which have been equipped with fake nails to compensate for his lack of natural ones.

"How-" Grace starts. 

"Nail glue." Julie responds simply. "I have no idea how long it'll last, though, Simon here has _really_ weird hands." she adds without a care in her voice. 

Grace glares at her furiously ( _"You can't say things like that!!"),_ but Simon doesn't seem to mind. He's focused on the way light reflects on the nail polish his new nails have been painted with. 

"What color is that? The base is black, but the highlights are multicolored. Kinda like gasoline?" 

"Yeah, that's my _'Fuel'_ nail polish, I love it. It goes with everything. You like neon clothes?" 

"Uh, I mostly wear black, or different shades of gray."

"Ugh, _amateurs._ Grace, you need to teach your boyfriend about fashion."

Grace doesn't even bother trying to correct her sister and just goes to grab an umbrella. Her blood feels like it's both burning and freezing at the same time and her heart like it's about to tear from how fast it's beating. Something about this cute scene is off-putting in a way only _she_ can recognize. 

"Alright you little monster, I think you've done enough, lay off. Simon, I don't think the rain is calming down any time soon, so…" she anxiously says as she hands Simon the umbrella.

The stare he gives her back is… completely blank. What is he thinking? Or feeling? 

"...Thanks," he says with a tone that familiarly feels kind of off to Grace, "I really do need to get home soon to change before I start my shift."

Quickly, Simon removes the decorations Julie put in his hair and silently gives them back with a little bow before heading towards the door. 

"I'm sorry for throwing you out like that, but I just…" Grace starts as she holds the door open for Simon. 

"It's OK, I get it, it's weird having me near your family."

"... It's more complicated than that, but I don't want to hold you off for too long. I'll talk to you later. See you soon." Grace responds with a worried face. Hopefully Simon doesn't take this too badly.

As Grace waves goodbye, Simon opens the umbrella and timidly waves back before heading home. His black nails pop even under the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julie's behaviour may or may not have been based on my own as a youngest sibling myself. We just love being blunt and embarrassing our big sisters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon reaches his boiling point and Grace tries to take care of herself.

"Sorry again about last time," Grace says as she puts her coat on the chair Simon isn't using, "I just… I'm already not used to introducing my friends to my family, and you're kind of an even more special case here." 

Simon's at his desk, putting masking tape on a sheet of watercolor paper with sunflowers sketched on it to prepare for his next painting. His hair is still tied in a big braid, and his painted plastic nails clink nicely against the surface of his desk. 

"Yeah, yeah, I got that, I don't hold it against you." he says simply, grabbing a set of brushes and a freshly cleaned mug of water. 

"You seem to get along with Julie, though." 

"Yeah, your sister's a nice kid." 

"She really is," Grace says then hesitates before continuing, "Honestly, she kind of reminds me of Hazel, in a weird way." 

Simon freezes. For a brief moment, some indescribable emotion flashes across his face, and in even less than the blink of an eye, it's gone. If he hadn't made the connection before, now he has. 

"...Yeah, I guess I can see it," Simon mutters, "she's got the same eyes…"

"Yeah. And… not to imply anything bad, but I _am_ a bit protective of her, so when I saw her get so close and familiar with you, I kind of freaked out internally." 

Simon stares blankly at his brushes for a few seconds then puts them down. 

"I get that, I get that. Like I said, not holding it against you." he says as he turns to get his set of watercolor paint.

_"You don't have to hold it against me to be upset about it!"_ Grace thinks, but says nothing. 

She spends the next hour silently looking at Simon painting his sunflowers. They look pretty but after accidentally spilling some water all over them, Simon just stands up, stares at the mess for a few seconds, then tears the painting right off his desk to throw it into the trash. 

When he sees Grace's surprised and saddened expression at this, Simon reassures her. 

"It's OK, I can always make another." 

* * *

Two days later, Simon has a surprise for her. This time, _she's_ the one who will be painting. 

"You always look so intrigued, I thought I'd teach you what little knowledge I have about watercolor." Simon says, handing her a water brush pen.

Grace is a lot more stoked about this than she thought she'd be, it's honestly kind of exciting to learn new things. 

"It's so funny, I've never seen any of these things before… Like, the water is already inside it?" 

"Yeah, sometimes I mix it with ink when I want to have some colors ready to use on the go, but mostly it's just really practical when you don't want to spend forever adjusting how much water you're using, or when you're painting outside." 

"I see, I see…" Grace says, acting like she already has prior experience with all of it. 

Simon gives her a sketch of a lavender field for her to practice on and watches her try to paint over it, only stopping her to give her some pointers and advice. 

"Doesn't it make more sense to start with darker colors?" 

"No, because once it's dark, you can't make it any lighter. …Well, not unless you have a lot of water, paper towels, and are willing to risk damaging the paper. Point is, you start with the lighter colors, and only go progressively darker to avoid making mistakes you can't fix."

"OK, I see what you mean…" Grace says, trying to spread the pigments in her brush evenly across the field. 

In the end, the painting doesn't look exactly amazing, but it doesn't look bad either. Grace feels kinda proud about it. 

"Maybe you're the one who should look into teaching kids." Grace says playfully. Reflexively, Simon frowns but then immediately shifts to a more neutral expression. 

"I don't know, that's probably not a great idea."

"Why not?" Grace pushes. 

Simon's starting to look frustrated, but then his face closes again. 

" _You know wh_ \- ugh, nevermind. It's OK, I'm just not cut out for the job honestly. Not very social." Simon says, trying to sound as detached as he can. 

Grace frowns. As Simon cleans up the desk and puts her painting to dry next to the sole window of the apartment, she tries to build up the nerve to speak up. 

"...Hey, I need to tell you something. It's been bugging me for a while, honestly." 

Simon turns around, intrigued. 

"What is it?" he asks. 

"I feel like you're keeping stuff from me." Grace says indecisively. 

Simon blinks. His stare goes blank again. 

"I've been nothing but honest to you since we started talking again." 

"I'm not talking about what you say, but about how you act. You're keeping your emotions hidden, and while I understand why, that can't be healthy." 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Simon responds, his facial muscles fighting against his nerves to not let his eyebrows furrow. He's _twitching._

"Don't play dumb, Simon, you keep showing glimpses of… of something, and then as soon as you notice you just let yourself show an emotion, you shut it down." 

"It's OK, I'm fine." 

"Are you, though? I strongly doubt you're indifferent to… well, everything." 

"I'm _fine_." Simon insists, his voice trembling slightly. 

"No you're not, you're… You're hiding the way you feel, you're not fine!" 

" **DON'T TELL ME HOW I FEEL!!** " Simon yells, his face deformed by anger.

Grace flinches. 

Silence falls on them. 

Grace doesn't even know what she'd say if she could talk, but her eyes speak for her anyway. They're filled with a mix of fear and sadness. As soon as Simon recognizes that look, his face falls. 

"I... _I'm sorry for yelling_." he says with a small voice. He looks like he's about to cry. 

"...I should go." Grace responds just as quietly. Frantically, she picks up her coat, puts it back on and heads to the door. 

"I'm really sorry!" Simon cries, and as much as Grace wants to empathize with him, she decides to prioritize her own feelings. People-pleasing has its limits.

"It's OK, I understand, but I just really need to go now. We can talk again later, I promise."

* * *

Grace runs home like her life depends on it. 

_What an idealistic idiot. You think you're just so good you can contaminate others with your greatness? Well you can't. Simon can't catch up, because you're too good for him, you've always been._

She tries to calm down her inner voice, but it's really hard to keep it quiet when she's freaking out. 

_I'm better than him. I'm better than everyone around me, and that's why I don't have friends. Because I'm too good for them, and they'll never be able to keep up. He's just threatened by that._

Grace feels enraged at both Simon and herself. She can't be feeling like that, and she can't let Simon terrorize her either. As soon as she gets to her house, she rushes to her bathroom and locks the door. 

_"That's not the problem. Repeat after me, Grace, that's not the problem here."_

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Grace suddenly slaps herself. It stings. She takes a deep breath. Slightly stunned, she slaps herself again. Okay. 

"I'm not better than Simon, that's not what this is." Grace says to her reflection. 

_"Come on, just like you practiced. Breath in."_ she thinks. 

"I'm not his therapist." 

_"Breathe out."_

"I can be his friend, but not his therapist."

_"Breathe in."_

"It's not my fault he's like that."

_"Breathe out."_

"I want to be his friend, but it's not my fault he's like that." 

_"Breathe in."_

"I'm not better than everyone else, and I don't need anyone's attention."

_"Breathe out."_

"I'm strong, but I don't have to put all this pressure on me." 

_"Breathe in."_

"I don't have to run, but I can if I want." 

_"Breathe out."_

Okay. Okay. 

After a few minutes spent calming herself down, Grace writes an email to her therapist to see if she can book an appointment next week, then rushes to her bedroom to let herself fall on her bed head first. Without noticing, she slowly drifts into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Grace is woken up by the buzz of her phone. After checking her twitter notifications, she realizes the buzz came from Simon sending her a text. 

**_I'm really sorry for what happened earlier today. I really mean it._ **

Grace debates with herself on whether she should answer it or not, but then feels like she needs to say some things. 

**Do you understand why I left?**

**_because I yelled at you?_ **

**I mean before that.**

**The reason I left you on the train.**

The message is read but goes unanswered for almost an hour. 

**_I don't know._ **

**_because you were tired of me?_ **

**_because I disappointed you?_ **

**_because you realized how much better than me you were?_ **

**_because you were scared I was gonna attack you again? I don't know._ **

This time, Grace is the one who leaves him on read. 

**_fuck, I really don't know, you have to tell me Grace_ **

**_I'm trying I really am_ **

Grace finally responds. 

**I left because I'd realized that whatever progress you could make, I wasn't gonna be the one to take care of it. Not because I couldn't do it, but because I couldn't *take* it.**

**I can't be the one who fixes you, Simon.**

**I guess it was so nice hanging out with you again I just completely forgot about that.**

Simon is silent for 10 minutes, typing and erasing again and again, then finally, he just replies with a short text:

**_Please don't leave._ **

Grace tries to come up with an answer, but she simply cannot find the words to articulate what she wants to say, so she just turns off her phone and screams into the nearest pillow. 

* * *

When Grace turns her phone back on the next day, she's genuinely surprised to not have received the bare minimum of a dozen texts she was expecting from Simon. It's kind of a relief. Instead, it's only about 3 days later that Simon sends her another message, with only a short text saying " ** _please call me or message me when you can._ **" 

* * *

Finally, after 5 days of radio silence, Grace breaks and texts Simon back.

**Let's meet at the mall, 5pm tomorrow.**

Simon reads the message but doesn't respond. Grace decides to interpret it as a silent approval.

* * *

The next day, as expected, Grace finds Simon waiting for her at the entrance. She's pretty early but apparently Simon got there even earlier. His face, worried as it might be, completely lights up when he recognizes her. He starts waving at her. Oh man, he's really desperate.

"...Hey." Grace says awkwardly as she gets closer. 

"Hey." Simon responds a bit dully, visibly trying not to look too excited. 

He's wearing a dark hoodie, a gray shirt and dark blue jeans, and his hair is loose, but he still has those fake nails on. The black polish on them is covered in scratches, though. Most surprisingly, however, it looks like Simon _shaved._

While still wearing the usual set of comfy clothes she loves to go fall back on, this time Grace is also wearing a wig. It's straight, short hazel hair. Grace has a love-hate relationship with the way wigs completely change the vibe of her whole face, but for tense moments like that, it's nice to have some kind of mask to rely on. 

"...Let's try to find a nice place to sit down." Grace suggests hesitantly.

They settle at a cute café that doubles as a pastry shop. This time, Simon acts faster than Grace and manages to pay for himself before she can even pull out her credit card. Damn, he's good. _"You win this time, Mr.Laurent,"_ Grace thinks, _"don't get too used to it."_

As they pick a small table seated with colorful bean bags and sit down, Simon makes the first move. 

"I'm really sorry about the other day. It won't happen again." Simon apologizes once more. 

Silently sipping on a big jar of some kind of weird fancy tea Simon has never seen before, Grace carefully picks her words. 

"Actually, that's kind of what I wanted to talk about. It… it _will_ happen again-" 

"I promise-" 

"Simon, let me finish." 

He closes his mouth and starts silently scraping at a sugar cube.

"As I was saying, I think it's bound to happen again, but also, I also kinda think it _should_ happen again?"

Simon drops the sugar cube he was playing with. 

"I'm sorry, _what_?" 

Grace has thought about this a lot, and _god_ , while looking at Simon grovel _is_ the most satisfying thing ever, Grace actually wants to build a relationship with him. She's willing to trade some of her feelings of superiority for some peace of mind, for both Simon and her. Even if, by her book, she's admittedly already being extremely generous and patient.

"I'm definitely not saying I want you to yell at me again, because that really, _really_ sucked and I'm pretty sure it triggered the hell out of me, but also I think you should be more honest about how you feel. Not necessarily all the time, but at least more often. Because if you keep bottling things up, when you do end up expressing yourself, it's inevitably going to be unpleasant."

Simon looks at his shoes. 

"I just… I don't want to make you feel sorry for me, or guilty, or scared. And I don't want to creep you out."

"How's that working out for you so far?" Grace can't help but say, then quickly puts her hands on her mouth, apologetic. 

"I, no, OK, I get that." Simon says with a nod. 

"No!! Ugh, you're allowed to get mad at things!" Grace exclaims, frustrated. 

"But you're not wrong!" 

"That doesn't mean your feelings are wrong either!" 

"I… Shit, this is confusing."

Grace sighs. 

"Listen, I can handle myself. I've made my peace with what happened on The Train. All of it. And I decided I've experienced an appropriate amount of guilt over the things I've done, and have elected to not dwell on it much longer. I know I'm not responsible for your troubles, so you're allowed to get mad, or sad, or anything about this really. Because I'm just not gonna feel guilty about it."

"I worry. I just don't want to shift blame, or any of that crap." 

"I… Look. I'm allowed to feel anxious when I see you get close to my sister, given our history with one another and with Hazel. But you're allowed to feel shitty that your friend doesn't feel entirely safe around you, even if she has good reasons to feel that way."

"It doesn't feel right."

"Brains don't care whether our feelings are morally right or wrong, Simon, we just have them, and if we never express them, things go south reaaaal quick once we hit our limit." 

"I… OK, that's… That does make sense." 

"Can I be brutally honest with you for a bit?" Grace asks. 

"Are we not there already? ... _I mean_ , yes."

"I've been feeling really conflicted. About being your friend again. Not because I don't want to be your friend, or don't like being your friend, but because it _felt wrong_. Now, give me good reason to believe that you're delusional, dangerous, or unredeemable, and as quickly as I entered your life here, I'm ready to leave it again."

Heavily breathing, Grace takes some time to calm down then downs a big gulp of tea.

"Now how does that make you feel?" 

Simon looks at the ground for a bit, then back at Grace. 

"Like it's warranted, but also, uh, pretty fucking shitty." 

"Well, good, 'cause it should. You have to do some pretty bad stuff to warrant this much suspicion. But also, hey, I actually want to be friends with you, and I've kinda stopped giving a shit about what's right and wrong regarding this situation. I just want us both to feel better, even if I'm almost always going to prioritize my own feelings over yours."

Simon looks blankly at his small cup of hot cocoa.

"Okay. _Okay._ " he mutters pensively as he picks up the cup and starts drinking. 

After finishing his cup, Simon wipes his face with a towel and stares at the empty cup for a bit before looking at Grace in the eyes again. 

"Um, OK, so, I've been doing some research and, uuuuh…" Simon says with a shaky voice. He gulps. 

"...I think I _might_ have BPD?" he says tentatively with a grimace. 

Stone faced, Grace takes a looong sip of tea. 

"Yeah, _no shit_." 

"I always thought I was just shitty!" Simon says with a crooked smile, still looking a bit apologetic.

"Well, you **_were_** shitty. Now you know what brand."

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so. I just. Hm. Makes ya think."

Grace would open up more about how she herself is so well versed in psychiatric terminology, but right now, she's got other fish to fry. 

"I've also been thinking…" she starts.

"Hm?"

"Money often comes up, but I can tell it's not you trying to get pity out of me, because you always get uneasy when I pay stuff for you." 

"I… Yeah, you got that right." 

"And while I kind of have the urge to help you financially when I look at how things are for you, it also just… feels like it would be wrong, on many, MANY levels if I actually started giving you money to pay for food or rent." 

Simon blinks, thinks for a moment then tries to take one more sip of his empty cup. He quickly puts it back down. 

"...Definitely. A coffee is fine from time to time, but more than that is just… Eaugh. I really don't want you to spend money for something you get nothing out of. "

"Actually, that's exactly where I was getting at."

Simon quirks an eyebrow at her. 

Anxiously fiddling with her hands, Grace takes a deep breath. 

"If… _If_ you're willing to try and put in the work, I wanna pay for you to get a therapist."

Simon's eyes widen. 

"Are you serious?" 

"Yeah, dead serious. And before you even say it- _yes_ , I _will_ actually get something out of this. Mainly, some peace and safety in knowing you're actually getting help from a professional. Believe me, this'll be as much a gift to you as it'll be one for me." 

This is too good an offer to pass on, and like Grace said, it actually would feel somewhat mutually beneficial. 

Simon puts his hands in his hair, nervously pulling on it a bit, thinking hard. 

"...What would I even tell them? I can't exactly talk about The Train without looking, well, _delusional_." 

"Well, you tell them that after you were abandoned as a kid, you were kidnapped by a cult where you destroyed shit and maimed and killed people you deemed inferior, met your best friend there, grew up with her," Grace says, " _fell in love with her_ ," she mumbles between two coughs, "and then uuuuuh. Tried to violently take over and murder her when she tried to leave. Also you have trust/abandonment/anger issues. Easy." 

"...Well, when you put it _like that._ " Simon says with a grimace, his face all scrunched up. 

"I know."

"...You _do_ realize they're _definitely_ gonna think I'm some kind of white supremacist if I tell them that, right?"

Grace blinks. 

"...Well, _former_ white supremacist, but I see your point. We can work on making the Apex sound less like a nazi thing out of context and more like uuuhhh… Hm. Yeah, no, OK, it is very hard to explain when you remove The Train out of the equation. … Eh, we can workshop that part later. The main thing here is, you have issues, and a lot of them can be addressed by a professional."

"I… OK… I'm just… Wow. That would be _huge_ , yeah. I'm definitely willing to try, at the very least." 

"I'm not expecting you to find the perfect therapist on your first attempt," Grace reassures, "it's ok to wander a bit before you find one that works for you, but… Yeah, I definitely feel like it would be really beneficial for you. And while I think I could handle you being a bit more emotionally honest, I definitely would love it a lot more if you dumped at least some of your issues onto someone who was actually _trained_ to deal with them."

Simon nods silently, still thinking hard about it all. 

Anxiously, he looks at Grace in the eyes. 

"I honestly thought you were gonna leave again."

"Not gonna lie, I almost _was_ expecting you to show up at my door."

"...And I almost did, but then I thought that would be… a pretty bad idea. Given my record."

"...Yeah, good call. Listen, if I leave, believe me, _you'll know why_. I know better than to completely ghost a weirdo like you out of nowhere."

" _Ouch_."

"Your school shooter vibes, Simon, they're through the roof."

"You know, I think I got it the first time."

"Did you?" Grace asks tentatively. 

Simon glares at her, unamused. 

She laughs in return. Okay, maybe she can work with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen some people call Simon a narcissist a few times, which bothers me because not only do I think it's completely erroneous, but it's also clearly only based on stereotypes propagated by uninformed media and a misinterpretation of Simon's behaviour and character. Be it intended or not, Simon has got to be the most blatantly Borderline character I've ever seen in any piece of fiction. And in absolutely related news, the next chapter is gonna be pretty emotional.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into Simon's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_CW: flashing lights, graphic intrusive thoughts, thoughts of self-harm, suicidal ideation._ **

We've all at least once been ashamed of a Google search we've made. It's just inevitable. Maybe it was looking for some gross trivia, basic dating advice, or more commonly even, some embarrassing porn category. 

Simon, using the local library's sole public use computer, is making his first shameful Google search ever. 

"Can you safely confess to murder to a therapist?" 

Typing it out makes it feel all that much weirder and more shameful. What kind of person googles that? 

_Well, a murderer, for one._

Simon winces at the thought. It's not a nice one. 

Thankfully, it's apparently forbidden for a therapist to breach doctor-patient confidentiality if you confess to a crime that's already happened. If, however, Simon were to confess to _planning_ one in the future, that therapist would have every right to go to the police. That's good to know. Not that he was planning on murdering anyone.

Simon sighs. He's really doing this, isn't he? Yeah, for her. For Grace. Truth be told, Simon really doesn't like the idea of anyone prodding inside his head, and much less being judged. He already judges himself enough for his taste. He's sorry for what he's done, that's been established, but Simon doesn't know for sure he's not gonna hurt Grace again, or that he's ever even stopped _wanting_ to hurt her. Actually, he isn't sure he really wants to know the answer to that question.

Simon doesn't even know why he didn't just run away when he saw Grace waiting for him outside his workplace. He's fantasized way too much about her, in more ways than he'd like to admit. The meaning behind the image of his hands wrapping around her neck changes every time he thinks about it, so he tries to think as little as he can. It's not very healthy, but then again, so are his thoughts concerning Grace. 

Admittedly, Simon's journey towards betterment hasn't been the most enlightened. With only a very basic interpretation of what happened when he had his big mental breakdown on The Train, the only meaningful observation he's made is the following :

"When I express myself, things go wrong, so I shouldn't express myself. The way I express myself comes from my emotions, which means they are wrong too, so I will repress them as well." 

And, to Simon's credit, this logic had been working out just fine. Up until… Grace came back. 

And now, suddenly, he has to deal with a bunch of feelings that actually matter to him. Who cares how he feels about his coworkers? Or his clients? His landlord? All are insignificant. Any feeling that comes out of these interactions isn't worth dwelling over, and almost always easy to ignore.

But Grace? Who could ignore Grace?

He doesn't immediately recognize her when he sees her get closer. It's a shame the first feature that triggers his memory is the look of fear and confusion she has on her face when she recognizes _him_.

Grace. _Grace_. 

Simon has spent the past three years questioning every belief he's ever had, but some of the few that still hold up are that Grace is wiser, more independent, and more worthy of love than he is- than he’ll _ever be._

His hatred for her is wrong, because she's better than him.

His love for her is wrong, because he's not worthy of hers.

None of these reasonings make the feelings go away, but thankfully they're enough to prevent him from acting on either of them. 

They make being around her a terrifying mix of pain and bliss. It's torture. 

_“You’re sick, you know that, right? Completely fucked up. Why are you even around her.”_

It's obvious Grace wants to reconnect, but she's also suspicious of him. She doesn't know how right she is for being so wary. For her sake, Simon has to sand off all of his edges and be as unthreatening as possible. If she's going to be his friend again, he can't hurt her, and he can't let her know how he feels. Be it love or hatred, Simon knows they're both disgusting, and Grace shouldn't have to deal with either of them. 

She shouldn't have to deal with _him_. And yet she does. 

She comes back for him once. Twice. Thrice. Make that a dozen. And then they just keep on meeting, like it's normal, like it's something they've always done. And well, it kind of used to be. It simply… stopped for three years. Maybe that's all this time apart from one another was, a hiatus. Maybe this is fine? 

He has to repress himself from going off the deep end. He’s got some more normal ways to do it, like just focusing on his breathing and emptying his mind, and some… less healthy ones. He tries not to think about it, like it’ll make the way his arms look go away.

It's frustrating how _adequate_ Grace looks in comparison. She's got a family, a home, a therapist, and a bunch of hobbies. All Simon is good at is working a mind-numbing job.

This job was the best thing that could've happened to him. It's all routines. Checking the inventory, moving boxes, sticking tags on shelves, scanning barcodes. It's so repetitive, it's the perfect thing to put his restless mind to sleep. Nothing to actually focus on, just endless tasks. Sometimes Simon feels so much like a robot he wishes he were a real one. But of course, Grace just had to change that. 

The moments he spends with Grace are like a breath of fresh air, but they also make controlling his emotions so much harder. _Don't get mad at her. Don't endear yourself with her. Don't push her. Don't hug her._

How is it possible to have such strong conflicting emotions and urges about one person? 

Simon pictures his hands around Grace's neck again and feels _sick_ to his stomach. He wishes his brain had fried 3 years ago and not his skin, then he wouldn't have to deal with this.

For every thought he has about hurting Grace, he has another two about hurting himself. She's survived him once, she'd probably pull it off a second time if he tried it, so Simon would rather attempt to kill himself over hurting Grace again. The perks of death are huge- mainly: not having to deal with everything anymore. And all things considered, it seems more fair to take his own life than to take hers- after all, these are _his_ problems, and like Grace said, she has no responsibility in those. 

But Grace seems so concerned about him. How on earth she can muster this much empathy for someone like him, Simon has no idea, but it means hurting himself would probably hurt her too. God, this sucks. There really is no easy way out of this situation.

For a moment, Simon considers just. Stop seeing her, but the knowledge that _she's_ the one who wanted to meet in the first place makes it impossible. To leave her unprompted would betray every sleepless night he's spent agonizing on when Grace would finally realize what kind of person he is and abandon him once and for all. 

He's weirdly thankful she hasn't asked any questions on what his beliefs are now. Him no longer being a passenger, she probably just assumes he's all fixed now. But Simon feels like a broken vase that's being clumsily held together by a ridiculous amount of duct tape. He's a bomb just waiting to explode.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" 

Simon is startled. He raises his head to see Grace staring at him with a worried face. 

"You zoned out for a bit here. Are you OK?" 

"I'm… Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Simon responds with a dull voice. He hates losing track of reality. 

They're drawing one another, Simon realizes. From where he's sitting, Grace's portrait of him looks pretty amateur, but cute. Looking down at his own sketchbook, Simon realizes the Grace he's drawn has no facial features, all there is on that piece of paper is an empty face with furious scribbles in the middle. Inadvertently, he's also drawn Grace with her old hair. 

"... Can I see?" she asks, slightly leaning forward. 

"No!" Simon yelps as he suddenly hugs his sketchbook tight against his chest to hide the art from her. "It's… It's not finished yet." 

"Scared the student will become the master, huh? It's OK, I get it, I'm intimidating." Grace says with a bright laughter. 

"Sorry, I'm just… I _have_ been a little out of it lately. Some things have been a bit hard for me to deal with." Simon says nervously as he puts down his sketchbook and starts scratching the back of his head. 

"What things?" Grace asks. 

Simon just silently looks at his shoes, guilty. 

"... Ah, me." she realizes.

"You're not- it's _me_ , Grace. Not you. _My_ feelings." Simon painfully attempts to articulate. 

For a moment, Grace just stares at him silently, sizing him up. 

"... Is there anything I can help you with?" she asks. 

Oh _god, no_. If Pandora's Box really exists, this is what it looks like. Grace's name echoes loudly in his mind like chanting choirs would in a cathedral. 

_Just say 'no, but thanks for your concern'. It's that easy. Leave her out of this. Don't tempt fate._

His voice trembling, Simon looks like he's throwing up thorns as he opens his mouth to speak.

"C- _Can I touch you?_ " 

God, will no one stop him from acting stupid? 

The look of surprise on Grace's face is only mitigated by a mix of worry and curiosity. 

_Please say_ ~~_yes_ _no_ _yes_ _no_ _yes_ _no_~~ _please_ **please** **_please-_ **

"... Okay. Just… don't do anything _inappropriate_ , alright?"

This answer feels like an act of God, but internally Simon is also praying for some additional divine intervention, for someone to just strike him down where he stands. ~~_I want this so bad_~~ _Please just kill me._

"...This is a _bad idea_." Simon whispers as he inches forward. 

"I know." Grace responds. 

His eyes vacant, Simon just nods and, as he comes to sit closer to Grace, he starts extending a shaky hand at her. The only touch they've shared for the past three years was a quick squeeze of Simon's fingers when Grace removed his gloves, and it already felt like something terribly forbidden. Simon's aiming for her _face_.

_Not her neck._ **_Not her neck_** _. Anything but her neck. You know better._

__

Simon's trembling hand reaches its destination and, absolutely terrified of himself, he cups her left cheek. At first surprised by how intimate yet tame the gesture is, Grace feels a shiver run down her spine before she leans into it, feeling the odd texture of his hand against her skin. It's so weirdly warm and comforting. Mirroring him, she soon extends a hand of her own to cup his face too, and Simon can't believe how soft her hand is when he feels it gently caress the more damaged side of his face.

There's so much tenderness in this, so much warmth in the brush of her thumb against his eyelid, Simon's intrusive thoughts seem to instantly vanish into thin air. He finds himself slowly inching forward and, instinctively Grace does the same. First grabbing one another's face with both hands, feeling the other's skin as if it was something completely foreign, they shift positions, and slowly the caresses turn into a full on embrace. This time though, Grace is the one to start it. Her initial hesitation gone, she wraps her arms around Simon's back and head, and squeezes. It's like the boy is melting in her arms. His face is now buried between her neck and her collarbone, and, as uneasy as she thought it would make her, the sudden jump in intimacy makes Grace feel more emotional than anything else. Hesitantly, Simon finally wraps his arms around Grace's back, embracing her in return, and quietly, he starts sobbing. He's _home_. 

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, Grace holding Simon tightly and gently running her fingers through his hair, and Simon crying like he's never cried before, squeezing her like she's about to evaporate. 

Overwhelmed, Simon can barely articulate as he whimpers against Grace's neck. 

"I'm so sorry. For everything, I…" 

"I know." 

"I don't wanna hurt you. _God_ , Grace, I'm so fucking scared, _and I don't wanna hurt you_." 

"I know," Grace repeats. "Then let's work hard to make this work, OK?"

Simon sniffles. 

"Yeah, I… I'll go to therapy. I'll do it." 

Slowly, Grace breaks away from their embrace to hold Simon's face again. She wipes some of his tears with her thumbs.

"It's gonna be OK."

Simon winces. He wishes he could believe her. 

"I don't know why you're doing this." 

"What, being your friend? I just don't know how to stop." Grace responds, dramatically brushing away imaginary hair from her face with a smile. 

Simon doesn't try to repress the frown he's wearing now. It betrays a terrible mix of pain and sadness. 

"You do know I like you, right? Like, _still_ like you." 

"I'm well aware, yes."

"And you're not…" 

"Pffft, nah. I can't blame a poor soul like you for falling for me," Grace says calmly, trying to sound casual, "and, well… It's not like we've never had this conversation before. Just…" 

She puts her head in her hands and starts massaging her temples. 

"... Don't expect more than this from me. At least for now. I've got stuff on my mind, you know?" 

Simon looks at her, completely bewildered. 

"Uh, yeah, _I really do._ " he says, dreading the moment his brain fog and intrusive thoughts begin haunting him again. 

Grace smiles at him. It's undeserved, but he accepts it graciously, like every other gift Grace has made to him by virtue of existing in his vicinity. 

"I'll be taking this home," she says, waving her sketch of Simon in his direction, "I'm sure Julie will want to do a collaboration and color it with her fancy crayons. I can't wait to see the result. Till then…" 

"... Yeah, I'll finish mine." Simon completes, eyeing his sketchbook, flipped over on the floor. 

"Well, I was going to say 'check out the list of therapists in the area I compiled for you', but that works too. Whatever helps us get a clearer look at what's going on inside your head."

Simon smiles weakly. 

"Believe me, you don't want to know what's inside my head."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With most of this chapter being Simon's inner thoughts, I honestly expected there to be little art, but as it turns out, this is the most art I've ever made for a single chapter! I wanted to illustrate the extremes of what someone with such intense emotions might _feel_ like. Intrusive thoughts are extremely hard to cope with when you've never been taught how to deal with them, and I can't imagine it's any easier when you've actually done stuff that's much more violent than those thoughts before.  
> Also, I seriously considered putting a content warning for "straightbaiting" at the start of this chapter as a joke for that one hugging page, but then I realized this would make some readers not take the other legitimate warnings seriously.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace thinks about the future, Simon gets fluffy.

"You're getting too investeeeeed." Grace mumbles to herself, grimacing. 

She'd convinced- even _promised_ herself she wouldn't get too close. That she'd only act as if Simon were a simple friend, or even just an acquaintance. She doesn't know what she should be the most ashamed of- that she's already beginning to see Simon as more than a friend again, or that her original intentions kind of were to make him her little project. How conceited. _He isn't yours to fix._

She met him earlier this summer, and now it's almost November. _…_ Oh- oh _, shit_.

* * *

"So, I was thinking… it's going to be my 21st birthday in a couple of weeks, would you like to come celebrate with my family for the occasion?" Grace asks Simon, who's currently in the process of undoing the dozens and dozens of thin braids Julie gave him the day before.

"... Wh- Oh, of course _you_ would be a Scorpio. " he says with a knowing look. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! " Grace yelps, only semi-ironically offended at whatever the implication is here. 

"Nothing," Simon answers simply, raising his eyebrows. "I'm a _Virgo_ , by the way, in case you were wondering."

Grace does some quick mental math. 

"Hang on, does that mean I missed your birthday?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, it was on August 28."

"Well why didn't you tell me?" Grace asks, sounding way more disappointed than she'd like to be. 

Simon shrugs. 

"Didn't think it was that relevant. It's not like _I'm_ used to celebrating my own birthday anyway."

He's not… _wrong_. Being a passenger meant having no real way to keep track of time, so birthdays quickly became an afterthought. It had taken quite a while for Grace to readjust to the very concept of having clearly defined days and nights herself.

"... Well, sure, but still. It's a bit sad to miss it. We'll celebrate your 22nd birthday together, OK?" she says with a reassuring voice and a soft smile. 

Simon's face lights up. The idea of a future with Grace in it seems to be more comforting to him than any gift she could possibly give him.

He nods enthusiastically. With one side of his head braided, and the other with freshly unbraided wavy hair, he looks _pretty_ goofy. Grace represses a snicker.

"Do you want help with that?" 

" _Please_." 

"I can't believe you let Julie do this to you." Grace says as she scoots closer to Simon to get in his hair. _Literally_. 

"She can be very persuasive." Simon responds, pivoting to give Grace a better angle to work with. 

"By persuasive, do you mean 'completely deaf to any protests'?" 

"... Yes, that works too. You know, I think she just really likes long hair."

"Oh well, you sure are gonna look like one long haired sheep once we're done."

"Your sister was insistent on wetting my hair and using a bunch of hairspray when she did this, so I _assume_ I'm also going to be a very _fluffy_ sheep after I brush my hair."

Grace smirks. 

"I can't wait to see it."

Undoing Julie's work, Grace is secretly just so grateful for how casually her sister treats Simon. Acting friendly toward him even though he's a total stranger, being comfortable being blunt with him, making him feel like he belongs here… Suddenly, it hits Grace that the reason this warms her heart so much is because Julie acted the same way with her. That little girl lived most of her life an only child- only two years ago did Grace actually come home- and yet, she accepted her as her sister without an ounce of hesitation. Looking at them from the outside, the Monroe sisters look like they were never apart. Grace smiles to herself as she swiftly undoes another braid. 

A comfortable silence settles as the two of them really get down to business. A few months ago, this would simply have not been possible. But now, they can just enjoy being together without having to fill the air with constant noise. Something about no longer feeling obligated to justify their presence to the other. Like good old times. 

After letting his mind wander for a bit, Simon gently breaks the silence. 

"... Have you thought about taking up ballet again? Not even with the goal of making it your job one day or anything, just for the sake of it. For pleasure." 

"How do you-" Grace begins to ask, but then she remembers. "- Right, _the tape_."

She leans forward to see if Simon reacted to the mention, but for once he doesn't seem to be uncomfortable at a passing reference to his past deeds, just eager to hear her answer. 

"...Honestly, while I would love to, I'm afraid I might be too rusty to do proper ballet now," Grace responds. "My prime years are already gone!" 

"You're _twenty_." Simon points out.

"Yeah, and very competitive. What are a typical ballerina's formative years, I spent as a passenger with pretty much no training and zero new lessons. I'm just _too old_." 

Simon thinks for a bit. 

"It's unfortunate ballet is so rigorous and, uh… _time restricted_ , but I guess you just won't allow yourself to suck at something that means so much to you, huh?" 

Grace nods gently. Simon managed to put her feelings into words. Mindlessly, she bites the inside of her cheeks. 

"... You know, all things considered, just because _you_ suck at writing doesn't mean you should never try it again. Can't get better at it without actually _doing_ it, and writing has got to be the one artistic practice that's the least influenced by how late you start. Do you know how many incredible, best-selling authors didn't even _try_ getting published before they were middle-aged?"

Simon feels a bit hurt being told he sucks at writing, but also, in retrospect, he can't really argue with it. 

"No, how many?" he asks with a vexed smile. 

"... Well, _I don't know the exact number_ , but it's a lot. A lot of them is how many." Grace responds mischievously.

The last hair tie on Simon's hair comes off, and, at last, all the braids are undone. And sure enough, the volume of his now wavy hair is pretty impressive. 

"Can I take a picture?" Grace asks with a big dorky smile, already pulling out her phone. Julie is in school right now, and Grace just has to show her once she comes home.

Simon smirks. 

"Sure." 

Gleefully, Grace takes a flurry of pictures from different angles, so Simon decides to partake in the fun by posing dramatically. It's hilarious.

"You look like a mermaid, daaarling." Grace says as she herself is starting to pose while taking pictures.

"I'll need to check later for any fairy tale where a mermaid turns into a sheep or a cloud, then." Simon says as he grabs a hairbrush to _achieve his final form._

In just a few seconds, the young man is transformed. Not unlike an owl getting angry, Simon's hair fluffs up to reach an absurdly impressive volume. The only thing keeping him from looking like one of those cartoon characters who just survived an explosion to the face is the weight of his own hair. 

"Oh. my god. This is amazing." Grace whispers with exhilaration through the laughter, stopping for a very brief moment to gasp, only to immediately go back to taking pictures. 

Simon eyes his warped reflection in the polished marble table of the Monroes' living room. 

"I can't exactly make out how this looks, but I'm assuming it's as impressive as it feels."

"Well, it's like, a pseudo afro. It's just so funny to see how imposing your hair can get."

"I could reasonably smuggle many things in this. I don't know what those things are, I just know I can." 

Grace looks down at her phone, swiping through her gallery, looking at her work. All of this is absolutely priceless. Almost instinctively, Grace tries to ruin her own good mood by trying to picture the Simon who hurt and betrayed her, but her masochistic urge is thwarted by a series of pics of Simon posing like a L'Oréal model. She's just completely unable to feel afraid of him in these circumstances.

"Do I look good?" Simon asks her, smirking. 

"The best," Grace answers with a chuckle, "let me get you a wet hairbrush so you can actually fit your head inside your hood."

"Bless your soul."

As she watches Simon methodically brush his mane, Grace can't help but think about how casual he is about showing his scarred face and hands to her now. He used to always hide his left side, but progressively, he's slowly been tucking his hair farther and farther behind his ears, leaving his facial scars completely uncovered. The same thing goes for his hands, which he used to hide in his pockets or behind his head and back. The only things Grace doesn't see much are Simon's arms, which he seems to cover a lot more lately, though Grace guesses it _is_ getting pretty frisky. They're just as damaged as his hands, so it's not like it'd be much more shocking to see him pull back his sleeves. Even Julie has been pretty cool about it, if a little blunt.

"Oh, shit, the time-" 

Grace perks up to look at Simon, whose hair has greatly diminished in volume. It still looks very poofy. He's shoving his phone in his back pocket and scrambling for his coat and bag. 

"What's up?" 

"It's 6PM and I haven't slept yet, I'm gonna be a wreck when my shift starts if I don't go catch at _least_ a quick nap." 

Grace knows it takes Simon forever to fall asleep when he's alone, he probably won't be able to get much rest, even if he leaves now. 

"Uh, do you want to maybe-" Grace starts, but then interrupts herself. She shouldn't do this. 

"Maybe what?" Simon asks, already ready to leave. 

Grace bites her lips. She would love to let him nap here, she really would. But it doesn't feel right. 

"...Maybe I can drive you home? It'll buy you like, 30 minutes, maybe?" she suggests, apologetic. _Nice save, Grace._

Simon smiles. 

"If it's not too much of an inconvenience, that would be great, yeah!" 

Grace quickly sends her mother a text ( **I'm borrowing the car, BRB** ) and runs down the stairs with Simon. She can make up a reason for it later. 

* * *

In spite of everything, Grace is still very thankful for the freedom she had in The Train. The afternoons she and Simon spent messing around with all sorts of varyingly realistic vehicles made it quite easy for her to get a driving license once she came home. 

Only a few minutes away from Simon's, Grace remembers something.

"You didn't answer my question earlier." 

"Which was?" 

"My birthday. Do you wanna come and celebrate it with me and my family?" 

Simon looks hesitant, like he wants to say yes, but doesn't want to intrude.

"It's on the 3rd of November. We'll be having dinner and cake, it's gonna be simple and quiet."

"I don't even know what kind of gift I could bring you that would actually make you happy." 

"I don't care about gifts, Simon, I just want you here!" Grace pleads. "...Come ooooon, you're like… ugh… my only friend." she adds with a groan. "And Julie loves you."

Simon smiles weakly. 

"Well, I can't disappoint two whole Monroes at once, that would be a crime." 

"Indeed. Just… Don't overthink it, OK? Plus, my dad is gonna be there, for once." 

"That- that's actually a great reason to overthink things, I'm terrified now." 

Grace stops the car in front of Simon's apartment. 

"Too bad, you're going now, I've decided. That's an order from your leader." she says jokingly, but then immediately regrets it upon catching a smidge of horror flashing across Simon's face. 

"...Well, _co_ -leader. I believe we are of equal value, now." Simon says casually as he steps away from the car, showing his right palm to Grace. "Not that we're leading much anyway… But I'll be there." he reassures. "Thanks for the ride." 

As soon as Simon closes the door of his apartment, Grace lets her head fall on the wheel and repeatedly hits herself with it out of frustration. _"Why did you have to say something like that and bring up bad memories and feelings?"_ she thinks to herself.

Starting up the car again, Grace realizes she doesn't want to come home immediately. _"I don't want Mom or Julie seeing me like this."_ she thinks. 

* * *

Grace drives in the adjacent neighborhoods for 20 minutes, trying to distract herself with unfamiliar places. God, she really doesn't go out much. Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she catches something. Getting out of the car, Grace walks closer and realizes what caught her attention is a sign with the words "DANCE STUDIO" written on it in big bright letters. Huh. 

Grace thinks about Simon's suggestion. He really did read her like an open book back then, huh? But then again, having her own weaknesses pointed out to her only makes her want to ignore them more. Mindlessly, she opens the door of the studio and walks in. It seems the first floor is currently dedicated to a ballet class, apparently mostly attended by teenage girls, so without even saying hi or notifying anyone of her presence, Grace walks up the stairs to check out the other rooms. There doesn't seem to be a class taking place on the second floor, but a few dancers are practicing there. They're notably older than anyone she's used to seeing in a dance studio, so Grace finds herself all the more intrigued as she watches two pairs of dancers waltz elegantly. The first pair is comprised of two women who look like they're in their 30s, one very tall with sienna skin and beautiful, long wavy black hair, the other about as tall as Grace herself with pale skin and short chestnut hair. Next to them, an older man with tanned skin and mid-length gray hair is dancing with a 40-something woman with dark brown skin and long straight black hair. They're all wearing sweatpants and t-shirts and seem to be having a lot of fun. The way they walk, sway and spin is soothing, almost hypnotic. 

"This your first time here?" a deep, smooth voice behind Grace says as she feels a hand on her shoulder. She jumps. 

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that!" the voice says, apologetic, and a short black woman with a buzz cut steps in front of Grace to greet her. 

"Alana Hayes, I'm one of the teachers here."

Grace shakes her hand, a bit embarrassed. 

"Grace Monroe, I used to dance when I was little. I was just looking."

"Let me guess… Ballet ?" the woman says after sizing her up. 

"How did you know?" 

"Your posture. That stuff sticks with you. But I assume if you're here, that means you're not interested in ballet lessons, hm?" 

"No, I'm… To be frank, I'm a bit uncertain of what I want to do. I know I'm young, but I feel too old to start learning something from the beginning, but, well…" Grace says, nudging her head in the direction of the two waltzing couples.

"Oh, yes, we have quite the diversity in this class. For one, it's a lot more colorful than ballet, but also, you'll find people of pretty much any age between fifteen and sixty. And even in the pro scene, you'd be surprised by how long we last! Richard here got third place at his last competition, didn't he?" the woman says, turning her gaze to the old man on the dancefloor.

"Second place, thank you very much!" the man corrects with a bright smile as he makes his dancing partner twirl. 

"My bad." Alana says with a chuckle. "As you can see, ballroom dancing has quite the longevity."

Grace's eyebrows almost jump off her face. 

"Ballroom dancing?" 

"That's right. Are you interested?" 

Grace looks at the two pairs spinning around the room. _Huh._

"I… Yeah, I guess I am." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was more of a light-hearted, "breather" chapter to relieve some of the tension from chapter 6. Going from Grace's POV to Simon's then back to Grace's again certainly is an odd experience!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace dances.

She doesn't tell anyone, at first. First of all, she doesn't even know if this is something she's going to actually pursue seriously, but even in the event that she does, Grace sure as hell doesn't want to be seen being bad at something by people she knows. Or, to be precise here, she doesn't want to show any _weakness_. 

"See, and if you lower your hips like that as you're stepping to the side- yes, perfect!" says Nadiya, one of the women Grace saw the other day when she visited the studio. She's teaching her how to properly do the waltz box step.

"You're a fast learner!" Nadiya says with a bright smile. She's wearing a long orange skirt that looks heavy but seems to move completely unbothered by it. _Cool_. 

"I have prior dancing experience, but I think it's not gonna carry me much farther than that, I am positively _terrified_ of what these two are doing." Grace responds and nods in the direction of a pair in the middle of a heated samba choreography on the other side of the room. 

Nadiya laughs. 

"There are over ten different types of ballroom dance, and I hope you stay here long enough to learn all of them. Some will come to you more easily than others, but they're all really interesting!" 

"Well, let's just start with the easier ones for now." Grace says timidly. 

Beyond how easy those first steps she's learning are, Grace is surprised at how comfortable she is being a beginner in front of all those other dancers. Maybe it's that it's less anxiety inducing to perform in front of people that weren't bred and raised for competition, but the studio as a whole also seems to have a much more casual and cozy ambiance than her old ballet classes ever did. And Alana wasn't lying about the ballroom dance class being diverse- when she was learning ballet, Grace was one of the only two black students in the entire dance academy, and back then she always felt like her personal failures would reflect badly on other black girls. She hadn't been dancing just for her parents or herself. Now being suddenly surrounded by a bunch of other dancers of color takes a weight off Grace's shoulders she didn't know she'd been carrying. It's liberating. 

That being said…

"OOMF!"

Grace slips on the shiny floor as she takes a turn sharper than she can handle. The young man she fell next to gives her a hand up. 

"Are you OK?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, I guess I'm not as used to smooth floors as I used to be." Grace reassures and looks up at the guy. He's _really_ tall, and his natural height is only accentuated by his impeccable posture. The world of dance tends to create people with giraffe necks. His short, almost pure white hair seems to have been pretty damaged by bleach. It contrasts with his dark monolid eyes. 

"We don't get new members that often, but I guess it's not that surprising given how expensive the lessons cost. I guess people have better things to spend their money on!" 

Grace chuckles awkwardly.

"Haha, except for me I guess." 

The man gives her a wide smile in return.

"Good!"

* * *

Grace checks her balance on her phone on the way back. Even if the studio is a bit far from home, she prefers to walk over using the car, plus it draws her mother's attention a lot less. Even if they didn't outright argue about it, she did give Grace the stink eye when she came back late with the car she didn't really ask permission to borrow. 

As expected, her bank account app displays a number with more figures than a woman her age is ever expected to see. Half of her wonders _"What were my parents thinking, giving me so much?",_ but the other half is so infinitely glad she can burn money on whatever she wants without having to work or have uncomfortable discussions with her mother. It does feel good to spend it on something that feels more productive than watching Netflix or spending her afternoons at different pastry shops. 

And aside from the endorphins Grace gets from actually exercising for once (the train-less life really is so sedentary…), one thing really makes ballroom dancing the perfect fit for Grace: it's all about being the center of attention. Yes, ballet has its prima donnas, but ballroom dancing? Ballroom dancing is about owning the room you dance in simply by _existing_ in it. The way some of the dancers Grace saw move was downright intoxicating. They draw her eyes, capture her mind and don't let go until the very end. It's everything Grace has ever aspired to. How can she not want to be like them, or even to surpass them?

* * *

She's all giddy when, later that week, she finally finds the confidence to tell Simon after a really productive lesson. 

"Ah, so you did follow my suggestion!" he says, smiling wide. 

"Well, yes, but… not exactly. I'm actually taking ballroom dancing lessons!" Grace exclaims joyfully.

Someone who doesn't know Simon well would have a hard time telling because of how much he's trained himself to hide his emotions, but, right then, Simon's face twitches, and, in an instant, his smile turns from genuine to tense. And she notices. 

"...That's great!" Simon says with fake enthusiasm. 

Grace tries to play along and fake not noticing his shift in behavior. 

"Yeah, the teacher is really nice, the other dancers too, and I don't actually suck at it! Like, sure, of course I have a lot to learn, but I'm doing _really good_ for a beginner." 

"And how long have you been doing this?" 

"Like, only 5 days I think? But I'm already making friends there, learning new steps and all, it's really invigorating."

Simon just smiles meekly and nods in return. Goddammit. 

"...Alright, you're clearly upset about something. Spit it out." 

"I don't want to-" 

"-Creep me out, force me to deal with your feelings, make me uncomfortable? Come on, we've talked about this. I know you don't like lying, so just be honest and straightforward, _I won't get mad_." 

Simon hesitates for a moment, bites his bottom lip, then turns to look at Grace. 

"...Are you doing this to hurt me? "

"I- _What?_ " 

"I don't know, I - I - I- it feels like you're trying to _spite me_ or _punish me_ somehow, taunting me by reminding me of that time we danced and… Ugh, I don't know." he sighs. 

Grace's face falls. 

"I _did_ think about the time we danced when I decided to do ballroom dancing, Simon, because it was _a nice memory_! If anything, I thought this would… I don't know, _comfort_ you? Because I'm doing something I like, and because it was such a fun and happy moment for me- _for both of us!_ Wasn't it?" she asks, upset to see this is how Simon thinks. 

Her earnestness must be convincing, because Simon's face quickly shifts from distrustful to dejected. 

"...I'm sorry I reacted that way. I didn't mean to imply-… Sorry."

Grace frowns. 

"Listen, I'd rather you be honest about this stuff than hide it and get even more stuck in that kind of circular thinking. I'm just… not trying to hurt you. Ever."

Simon nervously runs a hand through his hair. 

"Are you really?" 

Grace massages her temples, though carefully as to make sure not to mess up her wig. 

"Maybe… Maybe stuff I intend to just be friendly teasing sometimes comes off as mean. But in doubt, _please_ assume I only have the best intentions." she pleads. "And- and if you're still not sure, _ask_ me. I don't want to throw around big loaded words, but you kind of are… paranoid. If you're left alone with your own thoughts when you're upset, they can _very quickly_ spiral out of control. Am I wrong?"

Simon sighs. 

"...No."

"Now is there _anything_ else on your mind?" 

"...Noooooo…" Simon repeats slowly as he squints at her. 

"That's- that was a lie, a blatant lie, _come on_."

"If we review every single one of my paranoia-ridden brain's neuroses, you're not coming home before at least two or three days of unpacking bullshit. Let's please not do this." 

Grace sighs. 

"Well, at least you're self-aware, that's progress. …Alright, if you won't talk with me, then _dance_ with me!" 

"What?" Simon says, incredulous. 

"That's right, come on," Grace says as she grabs his hands and pulls him up, "just follow my lead."

Simon stands up, dragged by Grace into a less crowded area of the park they're in, and as she guides his right hand to her back, he starts getting flustered.

"Are you serious? _In front of everyone?_ " 

"Yes, Simon, the whole world is watching. All of four people. Do you see them, 50 feet away, near that blue bench? They're staring and they came here just to judge you."

Simon pouts. 

"You're being mean."

"That's my revenge for you _thinking_ I was mean before. Now follow my footsteps!" Grace says, pointing to the ground with a nod. Looking down, Simon tries to move in the same direction Grace is stepping. 

"...That's right, like that… OK, now look up!" 

"How am I supposed to follow you that way?" 

"You have to _feel_ it! And the steps are super simple. Also, technically, I guess _I'm_ the one who's supposed to follow you. Come on, this isn't the first time we've done this, just… Yeah!" Grace says as Simon progressively remembers the basics of waltzing. Slowly, he starts understanding how to actually direct their path. 

She's right, it _is_ pretty easy, but Simon can't help but be stiff and awkward about it at first. _He's dancing with Grace_. 

"See? Just like I told you, _easy_. Come on, loosen up!" she says enthusiastically. 

"Alright, I'll admit it." Simon responds, clumsily making a sharp turn when he realizes they're about to hit a street light. 

"I'm not taking you to the studio, though, at least for now. If you wanna get better, you'll have to get your lessons through _me_!!" Grace says with a smirk. 

"I feel like you're getting a bit ahead of yourself, here. You haven't even been dancing again for a week." 

"Oh, like you don't want to inject yourself in every aspect of my life." she scoffs.

Simon frowns.

"Why are you making that face- I'm not wrong, am I?" she adds. 

"...No, you're right, but not for the right reasons." Simon begrudgingly responds as they keep turning and turning. 

Grace snickers. 

"I don't need new reasons to be wary of you, Simon, there's already plenty to pick from."

"Then why even bother with me?" Simon asks as he dips her. 

"Because I have terrible taste in men." Grace responds. 

They hold the pose. 

Simon is glaring at her, completely silent. He's totally blushing. 

_"Come on, I dare you, I fucking dare you to kiss me now, you_ _**weirdo**._" Grace thinks. But thankfully _(or is it unfortunately?),_ Simon just steps back and pulls her up.

"If I grow, will you get better taste, or do you only like emotional wrecks?"

"I like to think I'm not _that_ shallow."

"So do I. Let's hope for the best then."

Grace also likes to think she's good at reading Simon, but the truth is, she has no idea what he's thinking right now. All the clues she can get usually come from Simon breaking character and displaying unpalatable feelings for only a brief moment. So is he playing her, trying to get closer and closer to her until it's the most perfect and exhilarating moment to stab her in the back, or is he genuinely trying to be better? She has no doubt he _likes_ her, but there's just too much anger in this boy for at least a bit of it to not be directed at her. And she knows a thing or two about conflicted feelings.

* * *

Grace comes home, eats with her little sister, but then the night comes, and she feels the need to check up on Simon. Almost too anxious to do it, she grabs her phone to text him. 

**Hey, are you good?**

**_yeah I think so_ **

**Not thinking I'm secretely trying to fuck with you or something?**

**_no, I feel like you've cleared up that concern for me, at least for now._ **

Grace squints at her screen suspiciously. Is he really that easy to persuade? 

**OK real talk though. Have you picked a therapist yet?**

**_actually no, I'm still undecided_ **

**I gave you that list like forever ago. And you haven't met *any* of them yet, what is there to feel undecided about?**

**_okay well_ **

**_hm_ **

**_here's the thing_ **

**_does the name Troya Lawson ring a bell?_ **

Grace's blood turns ice cold. 

**I**

**what**

**you**

**MOTHER FUCKER**

**_so I guessed right._ **

**She's not on that list I sure as hell did NOT put her there**

**How on earth**

**Did you fucking *stalk* me?!?**

**_I actually did not, I simply saw a notification pop up on your phone about 2 weeks ago_ **

**_and I've been wondering what to do with that knowledge since._ **

Grace sighs. 

**That's… slightly less awful than what you had me thinking.**

**_I mean to be 100% honest I definitely considered stalking you to learn that information, it just so happened I got it before I had to actually make that choice._ **

**Jesus fucking Christ**

Grace pinches her nose bridge. _What the hell._

**_you said you wanted honesty. you got honesty._ **

**What I got is a pile of problems I seem to be magnetically pulled towards.**

**_so what should I do?_ **

Grace stops to think for a moment. Is he actually asking her? _For real?_

Almost like he was reading her mind, Simon doesn't wait for her answer to add to his message. 

**_I'm genuinely asking, by the way_ **

**Are you seriously going to just do whatever I tell you to do?**

**_?? yeah obviously??_ **

Grace massages her temples. Good lord. _Okay._

**Well then.**

**And I can't believe I have to actually spell this out but**

**1\. don't fucking stalk me. EVER!**

**2\. don't go to the same therapist as me**

**3\. if you feel like you're starting to act a little crazy, TALK TO ME BEFORE I HAVE TO ASK ABOUT IT**

**_okay._ **

Grace just glares at her screen for a moment. 

**…Is that it?**

**_well yeah, what else do you want me to say? now that I know for sure you don't want that, I'm not gonna do it. I'm mostly just bad at reading people's tones_ **

**Unbelievable.**

**_you don't believe me?_ **

**No see I do believe you**

**Which is what's unbelievable here**

**_not sure if you're aware but I may have a skewed sense of what's normal and what isn't_ **

**I am aware and it's infuriating**

**I need some safe vibes in my life, man**

**I need some safe vibes and all you're serving me is Law & Order SVU!!!**

**_harsh_ **

**IS IT?!**

**_again very sorry for being terrible at reading your tone but could it be that you're being slightly humorous here_ **

**I am and I hate myself for it!**

**This is very serious shit**

**If they find my body in a ditch I want you to know all evidence will automatically point to you**

**_why a ditch? I feel like there's definitely better places_ **

**WHY ARE YOU EVEN CONSIDERING THE POSSIBILITY OF HAVING TO HIDE MY DEAD BODY SIMON**

**_idk shit happens_ **

**I hate that there's this very specific brand of humor that exists now where we joke about the exceedingly real threat that your creepy ass poses to me. I hate it**

**_well, hopefully it'll remain just humor._ **

**SEE YOU DID IT AGAIN.**

**BASTARD.**

Grace takes a moment to compose herself. It certainly isn't every day she has to deal with the extremes of mortifying dread and friendly banter in the same conversation, or downright AT THE SAME TIME. Without thinking, she taps the 'call' button right next to Simon's name. 

"...Hello?" Simon answers after 2 rings. 

"Hey." 

"Is there a problem? Are you OK?" 

"...I don't know, Simon, you tell me." 

"...I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." 

"Ugh, listen, it's hard to read tone with just text, It's not even- well… It's not _just_ that. Look, we were joking about that whole creepy murder bullshit, right?" 

"Right." 

"But also, and correct me if I'm wrong here, but you _were_ being completely genuine when you told me you considered stalking me to know which therapist I was seeing, yes?" 

"Mh-hm." Simon acquiesces. 

Grace inhales and exhales through her nose slowly and deeply. _Okay._

"Do you see the issue here?" 

Simon's end is silent for a couple of seconds. 

"I. Hm. Yeah, yes, definitely."

"Okay, good." 

"And you _were_ also being genuine when you asked me all that stuff, right?"

" _Yes._ "

"OK, just making sure." 

"You can't just get a _'feel free to stalk me'_ pass, Simon, you just can't. I'm not even sure you get a _'my black friend was the leader'_ pass when you have to explain whatever hellish nazi thing the Apex looks like to your therapist without the supernatural context."

"...You know, I have actually thought of some ways to make it sound less white supremacist-ey, but I may still need that pass for emergencies."

"You're on thin fucking ice, Simon Laurent."

"It's not like I'm asking for the n-word pass!"

"No, but you're already overusing the _'acting like everything's all fine and dandy with the girl you tried to kill'_ pass, and I'm starting to seriously consider taking that one away." 

"And who will you make awful murder jokes with after that, huh?" 

"You're awful," Grace says with a smile she can't for the life of her repress, "and it's getting late anyway, I'm gonna hang up now."

"Alright. I'll meditate on non-intrusive ways to be your friend while I work."

Grace scoffs and ends the call. 

Rolling on her bed and looking at the ceiling, she tries to think about how she ended up here, and why on earth she's so dedicated to keeping things that way. Simon _does_ deserve to be treated with patience, but this goes far beyond what's reasonable here. It's odd to think that the average woman in her situation would go to the police, while she's here making grim jokes with someone who, thankfully, she doesn't really believe would try to harm her… anymore.

God their relationship is weird. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing funnier to me than traumatized people making dark jokes, and it's also an interesting way to look at character flaws! Also, I may have repeatedly made myself scream in glee as I was drawing this:   
>   
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace finds comfort in the familiar.

Sure, Grace expected tango to be physically demanding, but this is just ridiculous. 

_"Have I really become that much of a couch potato?"_ she wonders as she steps out of the dance studio with her ears buzzing and completely drenched in sweat. So, maybe the train taught her both love and pain. But as it turns out, the most important thing it ever taught her was parkour. 

Her muscles hurt, being used again and sometimes in ways Grace had never tried before, but the way some of them sting reminds her of her early pillaging days on the train, the exhaustion of figuring out how to navigate all those crazy cars, the burn of pushing her body farther than she thought it could go. This almost feels like some kind of _rebirth_. Looking at her phone, she sees it's 6PM. Jesus, didn't she _just_ come in, and it was like 2PM? This is ridiculous. God does time pass by fast when you're repeating dance moves over and over and over again. Reflexively, she texts Simon. 

**So, how was therapy?**

**_it was OK_ **

**_mostly I think that woman was the one who really needed therapy_ **

Grace stops in the middle of the street.

**Oh my god what did you do**

**_what did *I* do?? why do you automatically assume the worst_ **

**_she's the one who kept prodding for weird questions only to crumble when I asked her *ONE*_ **

**SIMON WHAT DID YOU DO**

**_she kept asking me about my parents and my abandonment issues so I simply asked back if her obsession with parents stemmed from an issue in some past unbalanced relationship_ **

**Oh my god**

**You monster**

**Well?**

**_what?_ **

**Was it?**

**_idk but yeah probably given her eyes got all shiny & teary when I asked_ **

Grace grimaces and snorts at her screen as she starts walking again. 

**You're awful**

**_how do you expect me to trust a therapist to be able to handle me when she can't even handle one comeback?_ **

**You know what that's actually pretty fair**

**I wouldn't wish treating you on any therapist**

**_and yet you gave me the list_ **

**And yet I gave you that list.**

**_well I just crossed out the first name. 8 more to go I guess._ **

**Do you plan on making all of them cry and not want to take you on???**

**_nooooo_ **

**_but I do have an innate aspiration for conflict_ **

**OK 1. I hate that I can relate**

**2\. please get your shit together and at least try to cooperate with them. PLEASE.**

**_okay I will but only because you said 'please' twice. that really gave me the push I needed_ **

**Again, you're awful.**

**_it's what I do._ **

**_wanna grab coffee downtown?_ **

**SIGH**

**Yes.**

* * *

"Oh my god, you actually _genuinely_ _did print_ the list and crossed her name out. You look like some kind of demented anti-villain protagonist in a revenge movie that's hunting down every single person that's ever wronged him." Grace says, looking at the piece of paper Simon just handed to her. 

"That's oddly specific, but I don't have the culture to recognize what you're referencing here." Simon responds. 

"Uh, about 90% of revenge movies, honestly."

Simon just starts chugging his huge cup of coffee in response. 

"Is your job _that_ bad?" Grace asks with a smirk on her face. Simon really does look like he needs the caffeine to function for this next shift. 

"I wouldn't say it's bad, just… mind-numbing. It was OK while I was in robot mode, but now that I actually have something to look forward to outside of it, it's getting increasingly hard to not feel some kind of shitty about it."

"Robot mode?" Grace scoffs. "What, did you just turn off your feelings or something?" 

"Uh, kind of, basically, yeah." Simon says, disarmingly sincere. 

" _Jesus_ , OK. I'm starting to sense a pattern here."

"Are you?" Simon says, squinting and smiling at her mischievously. 

"Shut up."

"And how are _you_ doing anyway? Have you been talking about me to your therapist?" 

"I can't just tell you that!" Grace yelps. 

She pauses. 

"...Yeah." 

Simon laughs. 

"Shut up, it's not funny! Do you have any idea how hard it is to honestly talk about you to a normal human being? The sheer amount of self-censorship I have to perform every time I even slightly _mention_ you is ridiculous."

"Well, what parts _do_ you not censor?" 

"Um, the parts about you being my ex-best friend, an unstable weirdo, and also the unofficial president and sole member of both my personal fanclub _and_ dedicated hate group." 

Simon casually takes a quiet sip of coffee. 

"I have to say I'm impressed, you've really nailed it." 

"You're not doing much to change that image, you know."

"What can I say, I am a man of few talents. I'm limited by only being good at two whole things : doing what I'm being told and not saying what's on my mind most of the time."

"OK, that's… That's just straight up not true. You can… paint stuff. You make terrible jokes that make me laugh. And uuuuhhhh… You can speak French? I _think_?" 

Simon grimaces.

"I'm so rusty you might as well just not mention it." 

"What, that's not true, I've seen you speak it! Come on, say a thing, anything, I know you can."

"You're putting me on the spot like that? Fastest way to make me forget every single word I know, in every language."

Grace just smirks and dramatically sips her tea at him.

Simon frowns and groans. 

"I… alright… Let me just…" 

He looks to the side, as if he were physically digging into his brain for bits of knowledge. 

"...Je trouve que ça te fait une tête toute marrante de pas avoir de cheveux, mais en vrai ça te va plutôt bien." Simon says after a long pause. He's speaking with the right cadence, but he still has a noticeably American accent. 

"Oh- waitwaitwaitwaitwait, that was so fast, I don't think I even got one word- you better not have said something nasty!" Grace says, completely taken by surprise. 

Simon smiles softly at her. 

"I didn't." 

"Where did you even get that from anyway? Your mom?" 

"Right on the money." 

"Oh shit, I was just in a 'yo mama' joke mood. Well, I'll be damned- at last, some _Laurent lore_."

"Believe me, the only French heritage my mother brought home was her moodiness." 

"No romantic aspirations?" 

"No, not really. _My_ one distinctive French trait is I really like complaining about stuff." 

"I feel my personal family heritage is judging other people." 

"Oh yeah, you're great at that. I can feel your gaze on me like… fuckin… Osiris, judging me for my every sin." 

"What?" 

"Osiris, Egyptian god of the dead? Huh, I was persuaded everyone had like, an Egypt mythology phase when they were a kid." 

"Excuse me, baby me was focused on Greek mythos, which has _twice_ the amount of baby-eating and incest, and therefore is at least twice as entertaining." 

"You ever wonder what the hell was going on with the people writing that stuff? I'm not saying _I_ could write any better, and I know how this looks coming from me, but those people look like they had some pretty deep issues." 

"To be fair, those were different times. Like, there were literally still live mammoths on earth while the Egyptians were building pyramids and shit. It was a whole other era."

"Crap, really? That sounds wrong." 

"It's true, I read it in a book once!" 

Simon takes another big gulp of coffee. 

"I just realized this conversation has completely gone off the rails." he says as he puts down his cup. 

"What was even the starting point here?" Grace asks. "Therapy? How did we get to Egypt?" 

"Beats me." Simon shrugs. 

"Well, anyway. I'm sure you have… whatever it takes to aspire for more than just 'manager at a convenience store'."

"Can I be honest for a moment? I totally miss scavenging shit on the train." 

"Ugh, tell me about it. What's the point of escaping an eldritch death machine if it's to return to the capitalistic hellhole that is the US of A." 

"Yeah, thanks for that, **Grace**." 

"You're blaming _me_ for capitalism?!" 

"I'm blaming you for having the nerve to suddenly learn human empathy and develop a conscience."

"Oh yeah, I really dropped the ball there." 

"I should honestly sue you for psychological damage." 

Grace snorts. "Psychological damage?! _Bitch-_ I'm suing _you_ for the PTSD _you_ gave me!"

"Well, what's a little betrayal between friends." 

"Betrayal. That's… That's really all there is." 

"Hm. My debate game needs some work." 

"You're really not good at arguing with me." 

"Then let's not argue." 

"What will you do, then, compliment me?" Grace snickers. But Simon just looks at her, unfazed. 

"Oh, well, I do think you're beautiful." he says, disarmingly honest. 

"I- wh- _you can't say stuff like that out of nowhere_!" Grace blurts out. 

"I wouldn't say that, no, it's not out of nowhere." he simply responds. 

Grace is very thankful her blushing is hard to pick up on, because god, it would be so humiliating for her to be seen by Simon showing that kind of weakness. He of all people absolutely cannot know how much this means to her.

Trying to regain some form of composure, she puts on a playful expression, with a tinge of indifference to solidify her confidence. 

"Oh, really, you often think about me that way?" she says with a smirk. 

"...Kinda, yeah? I mean… Um…" 

"Well, I think you're very pretty too, don't worry." Grace says, only half-jokingly. Simon's cheeks flush. 

"Are you serious?" 

"I don't know how serious I am, but I do know being hot is a major factor in redemption. Do you ever see ugly people get redeemed? No, because what's the point. People only ever want to salvage the pretty ones." 

"You know, that's actually pretty horrifying when you put it this way."

"Oh, definitely, but I'm not here to reinvent the wheel, I'm just making observations."

"So, what, do I pass the test? Am I good looking enough to be redeemed?" Simon says with a scoff. 

"Yeah, yeah, I think you qualify. But damn, imagine if you hadn't been a hot boy." Grace responds with gravitas. "Sorry, man, you're just not attractive enough for me to care about your fate!" 

"That's awful." 

"Yeah, well, that's just how most people think, you know? Whether it's conscious or not, they're always gonna judge on appearances." 

"I'm not gonna debate you on that, I feel like your experience kinda speaks for itself."

"Mh." 

Simon tries to drink more coffee, but his cup is already empty. He always drinks too fast. 

"...I just realized I'm also the one who derailed the conversation in the first place, so let me back up a bit. Tell me again, how have you been?" he says after putting the cup down. 

Grace smirks. One thing they used to share on the train was a tendency to just ramble together for days on end, just instinctively jumping from one topic to another. Even if they weren't having the most incredible or quality conversations, it never got boring. She's kinda glad they're back to that stage. 

"Good, honestly. I get along with my family, I'm going to 'graduate' from highschool pretty soon, I'm learning new dances pretty fast, and, well… Not to state the obvious, but… I really am glad to have you back."

Simon smiles timidly. "I'm… I'm really happy to hear that." 

He seems so candid, so genuinely happy for her. Yet it's so hard to accept it as is. She doubts Simon is being calculating right now- if he's hiding things from her now, it's most likely for her sake rather than anything else. But it still makes her uneasy to think about. And then, it's her guilt's turn to come and make her doubt. Is she being too judgemental, overly cautious? Yeah, Simon is a bit of a creep, but then again, anyone's actions would be colored this way if they had the same history she has with him. His worst (post-train) offense was yelling at her on one occasion, which he then profusely apologized for. And it can also be hard to tell malicious intent from mere symptoms of a mental illness- though, hang on, can they sometimes be one and the same? 

"Are you OK? Earth to Grace?" Simon says, waving his hand in front of her face. 

"I'm-I'm sorry, what?" Grace suddenly jumps, startled. "What were you saying?" 

"Nothing, you just seemed really out of it suddenly." 

"Sorry, I was… zoning out, I guess?" 

"It's okay, we can call it a day, I'm gonna take an extra nap before my next shift." 

Grace eyes Simon's gigantic empty cup. 

"Are you sure about that?" 

"Yeah, don't worry, I've slept with worse in my system." 

"...Your body is an enigma." Grace says with a funny frowny face. "Want me to take you home?" 

"You came with a car?" Simon asks, surprised. 

"No," Grace answers with a cheeky smile, "but I can still walk with you on the way back." 

"...Sure." Simon says, and he puts a hand on his face as he stands up from his chair. He's _definitely_ hiding a blush, that's kinda cute.

* * *

Simon ends up being exceedingly tired the next day, so the following days Grace keeps their interactions to the minimum so he can actually rest. She knows she's basically his only distraction outside of painting- if left alone, Simon will just stay home, occasionally making art but mostly sleeping when he's not working. She's usually the one who texts first, but later that week, she receives a new message from Simon. 

**_well, as they say._ **

**_4th one's the charm_ **

Grace almost falls off her bed, jumping to answer.

**Oh shit did it go well?**

**Also god, FOURTH? You're really out there speedrunning therapy huh**

**_yeah I_ **

**_honestly I think I might stick with this one?_ **

**_Ariel Adler you madwoman. you absolute legend_ **

**What did she say to you?**

**_nothing really_ **

**_well, almost nothing_ **

**_she just listened to me ramble for like a wholeass hour and a half_ **

**_and at the end she was like_ **

**_"you've got a lot of emotions for such a young man, huh?"_ **

**_and then she told me that none of my feelings were unhealthy per se, only the way I sometimes deal with them, and that it's definitely something I can work on_ **

**_she said I wasn't even near as hopeless as I thought I was and_ **

**_I don't know_ **

**_it made me happy_ **

Grace eyes her phone, saying nothing for almost a full minute, unable to put into words the depth of the feelings she's experiencing right now. She feels weirdly relieved, kind of as if she was getting some kind of catharsis by proxy. She finally types an answer. 

**It makes me happy too, Simon.**

It takes him another two minutes to answer. 

**_just_ **

**_thank you so much._ **

**_honestly, I was kind of_ **

**_idk, I was feeling like maybe I didn't *deserve* to get better_ **

Grace smiles at her screen and starts typing with an amount of tenderness she didn't know she had in her. 

**You know, while not everyone deserves forgiveness from or second chances with the people they've hurt**

**I genuinely think everyone deserves the opportunity to get better, no matter how badly they've fucked up.**

**_and God knows I've fucked up badly_ **

**And god knows you still deserve to take care of yourself.**

**_thank you._ **

**_I_ **

**_thank you so much_ **

**_you do know I'm sorry for what I've done, right?_ **

**_I play back that shit in my head over and over and over again and I regret every single bit of it_ **

**_and I'm not just saying that stuff to make you trust me or pity me or whatever. I mean it_ **

**I know. And it does mean something to me that you're apologizing**

**But I honestly look forward to the day where you don't need to say 'sorry' anymore, and only say 'thank you' instead.**

**_I'll do anything it takes to get there. whatever you want_ **

Grace hesitates for a minute, not knowing what kind of answer she wants to give. 

**I want you to get better, and for us to be friends again.**

**We can work out the details later, but you already know what you need to do, don't you?**

**_yeah I_ **

**_I know what to do._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a lil' chiller than usual to prepare for the next one, which is BIG. I'm not sure I can finish all the art for it by next week (this is why there's so little for this one), but I sure as hell am going to try! And, by the way, if you were wondering what Simon tells Grace in French, it's along the lines of "Not having hair makes you look kinda funny but it suits you still."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is invited to Grace's birthday.

It feels so odd, actually formally presenting Simon to her family. Sure, Julie's pretty much his de facto hair stylist now, but Mom's only seen him from far away, and as for Dad… Well, he hasn't been around enough to see his own family in a while, so wanting for him to have any knowledge of Simon beyond "the boy exists" would be expecting too much from him.

* * *

Simon shows up with a plain bag on his shoulder, wearing a surprisingly non-ratty black sweater and a nice pair of jeans, and his sneakers don't look too bad either. He's even removed every single one of his piercings, which makes Grace actually realize for the first time the ridiculous amount of holes Simon has in his ears. Most importantly though, he's shaved and is wearing his hair in a tight, high ponytail. Weird _._ Like, he's good looking, but also. _Weird._ Grace isn't really used to the sight of Simon dressing to impress. 

"Well, well, well, who is this dashing young man I have _never_ seen before?" Grace teases. 

"I actually considered wearing makeup to hide my scars a bit, but then I realized it'd be pointless since your sister and mother already know what I look like." Simon mumbles, scratching the back of his head. 

"C'mon, you look good. If anyone acts shitty about it, I promise I'll shut them down immediately." 

He smiles at her. Grace is looking a lot more dressed up than usual too, wearing a bright red dress, black high heels and a long dark brown wig. Looks like Simon isn't the only one _performing_ tonight.

"Siiiiimooon!!!" Julie yells the second she sees him come through the front door. 

"Heya. How are you, Miss Fashion Week?" 

"I'm good, thank you very much. Did you know we're celebrating Grace's birthday?" 

"I did, that's why I'm here." 

"Cooool, does that mean you're staying for dinner?" 

"I… I think so, yes?" Simon responds hesitantly, looking at Grace for confirmation. She nods. 

"Yes. I'm staying." 

"Awesome! Hey, check out this video I saw today on YouTube." Julie says, already completely shifting her focus. Her disdain for linear conversations will never cease to be endearing. 

"Julie, please don't make Simon watch 'Baby Shark'." Grace says as she heads for the kitchen, only for her sister to shout "It's not 'Baby Shark'!" from across the room.

* * *

"You're _cooking_." Grace observes. 

"And _you_ aren't supposed to be here." her mother responds. 

Having spent her whole childhood being tended to by a small army of maids, seeing her mother actually do something like cooking by herself is a totally alien experience. 

"What's that smell? It's so sweet…" 

"Roasted sweet potato and parsnip fries. Ah-! Don't touch!" Her mother says as she slaps her hand away from a saucepan. 

"I don't recognize what's in this oven." Grace says as she kneels down in front of one of the stations. 

"Boar."

"Boar?"

"It's boar."

"I'm getting birthday boar!" Grace says with a big dorky smile as she throws her hands in the air. 

"Do you have any complaints?" Mom asks sternly. 

"No, are you kidding me? This rules. This is so unlike you." 

"Well, maybe you know less about me than you think. _Maybe_ I'm the kind of woman who cooks boar sometimes." 

Grace smiles incredulously at her mother. 

"...Alright, it's not my recipe. But, still. I know this is going to be good. Now get out! I don't want you sneaking around and getting your hands all over the dishes!" her mother pesters, ousting Grace out of the kitchen. 

* * *

In the living room, Julie is sitting on one of the couches next to Simon with earbuds on, who appears to be watching a video under her supervision. Noticing Grace approaching, he mouths _'Baby Shark'_ at her. She power-walks to the couch to snatch the smartphone from Simon's hands. 

"Alright, enough internet for you two, today." 

"What?! Grace, you can't do that!" Julie protests. 

"Actually, yes I can, because it's my birthday." Grace states. "I'm 21, which is the age where you can legally start confiscating things from your little sister." 

"Hey, you've been confiscating things for longer than that!" 

"That's because I'm an outlaw." 

Julie sticks out her tongue and makes fart noises at her. Classy. 

"Will the outlaw introduce us to her guest?" Grace hears her father ask behind her. She turns around. 

"Dad!"

"I managed to get here earlier than planned. I almost felt bad ending that meeting early, but, well… Can't miss my little girl's birthday." he says as he leans forward to put a fatherly hand on Grace's shoulder and press gently. 

"Not so little anymore. Dad, this is my friend, Simon." she says with a wave of her arm. 

Simon mechanically stands up like a stiff military officer and extends his hand. 

"Simon Laurent, it's very nice to meet you, sir." 

The man eyes his scarred hand for a few seconds before grabbing it to shake it firmly.

"I've heard so much about you." he says with a stern, serious voice. 

"Not too much, I hope!" Simon jokes nervously. 

"Now, why is that?" the man asks. 

Simon freezes. 

"I-" 

"He's just shy, dad-" Grace interjects. 

"Let the young man talk, he's an adult, he can speak for himself." her father retorts. 

Simon swallows.

"No, she's right, I… I'm just a little shy is all." 

"I see." the older man responds, his severe eyes staring straight into Simon's soul.

Grace can feel tension build in the air. Is this intimidation schtick really necessary? Her father knows how she feels about macho crap like that. 

Thankfully, her mother picks this moment to come out of the kitchen with a big bowl of some kind of fancy, colorful salad in her hands and a bottle of champagne under her arm. 

"Ah, everyone is finally here, fantastic. Grace, can you-" she says, raising her shoulder to show her the bottle. Grace grabs it and takes it to the table as Simon, Julie and her father sit down.

* * *

The dinner goes better than Grace expects- first of all, the food is _great_ , to a point where she actually doubts her mother did it all on her own. Like, OK, she loves her, but it's hard to believe someone who's so used to paying other people to do the work actually has the skill required to do it herself. Regardless of the authenticity of this family meal, it's absolutely delicious and Grace finds herself repressing a snicker more than once during the meal just looking at Simon trying to contain his joy and passion at being able to eat a bunch of tasty, fancy and _free_ food. She's willing to bet anything that if they were alone in the room, he'd be eating that boar like an animal. Julie seems to be in a closely similar situation, as the polite manners she was taught conflict heavily with the urge to really go to town on the food. The two seem to almost be vibrating as they try to eat in the most polite way they can bear. It's deeply entertaining. 

Grace almost believes they're going to finish this dinner without a single hitch, but her father just can't help being inquisitive. 

"Were you ever in the military, young man?" he asks as his wife is fetching dessert plates. 

"I- no, never. I… considered enrolling, but then decided against it." 

"Why not? You seem to be very well disciplined already, and surely, the promise of a free education must've been attractive." 

Simon smiles nervously. 

"Oh, it _was_ , I just didn't feel like it would be a very good idea."

"Just not the right fit?" 

"You could put it like that." Simon says uncomfortably. He and Grace share a meaningful look. They both know he would fit _all too well_.

"I see. Then if I may ask, what happened to your face and arms?" 

"Dad!!!" Grace exclaims. 

"What? If the man doesn't want to answer, then he won't. Let him speak his mind." 

"N-no, it's fine, I…" Simon stammers. Shit. 

He looks at Grace in the eyes. What can he even say? 

"...I used to be in a bad place, finding myself in… less than desirable situations. One day, I… things went very wrong, and I was… burned." He painfully and carefully enunciates. "And your daughter… Grace, she was amazing- she helped me recover and… get out of there."

Grace's face twitches, trying to hide the pain. Simon isn't _lying_ , but she hates herself, thinking about how untruthful that last part still feels to her. She _left_ him there on the train, all alone for over two years, not knowing if he would manage to get out on his own or be stuck forever, and even though she _knows_ it was the right thing to do for the both of them, she just can't completely let go of the guilt that came with making that choice. 

Her father turns to her. "Interesting. I had no idea, would you mind-?" but Simon finds the courage to cut him off.

"The rest is not my story to tell, all I can tell you sir is, you have a wonderful daughter, and I'm glad to be here." 

A heavy silence falls on the table, only to be broken by Julie. 

"Hey, I know we all love Grace here, but can we _please_ eat the damn cake?" 

"Language!" her mother says, holding the cake on a big plate. Julie just rolls her eyes in response. 

"No candles?" Simon timidly asks. 

"No, the wax would make a mess, and this is a very expensive table." Mrs Monroe replies as she puts the cake in front of Grace. 

Relieved the previous topic of conversation was dropped, Grace decides to lean over the table and playfully blow on Simon's nose. 

"There, I made a wish. Happy?"

He just gives her a goofy smile in return, which is more than satisfying. 

Soon, every dessert plate is filled with a big slice of strawberry cream-filled macaron cake and soon, the conversation just turns into a mix of satisfied eating noises and muffled compliments. 

His cake only half-eaten, Grace's father stands up and discreetly walks away to the next room without a word, so she decides to eat her slice faster. 

"Do you want another?" her mother asks as Grace stands up. 

"No, thanks, not for now. I think I just need to walk for a bit to, uh, make all that food settle in my stomach. I'll be right back."

* * *

It's cold outside, so Grace is thankful to find her dad in the front yard, not too far away from the door. He seems to be engulfed in a weird smokey halo.

"Dad, you're smoking?" 

The man turns his head to look at his daughter, caught in the act. 

"Ah… I didn't want you to see that." he says, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray he was carrying.

"I mean, it's just a cigarette, Dad, it's not like you're doing hard drugs or something. I guess it's just a bit surprising is all, coming from you." 

Her father silently studies her for a moment. What is he looking for? 

"Maybe things have changed more while you were gone than you thought, hm?" he says, suddenly turning his head to look up at the sky. It's not that late, but it's already almost ink black, the only light really standing out in this city sky is the bright moon. If Grace and her mother have been having complicated, truncated conversations about her disappearance, her father has been straight up avoiding the entire topic. From the way he talks about her disappearance and later _re_ appearance, an outsider would think he simply sent his embarrassing, definitely drug addict daughter away to a boarding school for troubled kids all those years. 

"I guess to me you haven't changed a bit." Grace says. 

" _You've_ changed _a lot_." Dad responds, without knowing just how much of an understatement this is. 

"For the better, I think. I have my issues, my damage, but I think I'm a better, more complete person now." she blurts out suddenly. What she wouldn't do to get all those years back, though… 

"I guess I'll have to wait and see what you do for your own future to verify that." Dad says, and Grace is surprised by how annoyed she is at that answer. He can't expect anyone to bounce back from having their entire adolescence stolen from them so easily. She decides to direct her grievances at the moon by staring it down. _Fuck you, moon, I guess._

"So, tell me, that boy…"

"Mh?"

"Is he gay?"

Caught off guard, Grace represses a grimace. _What?_ What kind of question is that?

"Uh, no?" she responds, visibly confused. A _"Why would you ask that?!?"_ is implied in her stare. 

"I see," her father says, "it seemed like he has a bit of a crush on you."

Grace is doing her best not to have a face journey as she tries to find the most appropriate answer, but she can't help but be petty about this. 

"... **Actually** , _yes_ , he does. And not just a bit."

Now it's her dad's turn to make an odd face. Quirking an eyebrow at her, he asks "But does he know about… well, you know." 

"He does." Grace says simply, like one would state an unshakable truth, an immutable law of physics. _Of course I would tell him_. 

"And he doesn't mind?" he asks, genuinely surprised. 

"Nnnope." she responds with a pop at the P. 

"...Huh." 

Dad is lost in his thoughts for a few seconds, and Grace can already tell he's gonna say something nasty. Come on. Don't-

"I would." 

Goddamnit. 

Seeing the anger Grace can't repress flash in her eyes, he tries to justify himself. 

"I'm not saying this to hurt you, it's not like I'm _against_ you or anything, you know that, right?" he says in a tone he wants to be reassuring. "You're my daughter, and I love you, but you can't expect people to treat you like a woman in every situation."

"What 'situation', _love_ ?!? Is it _that_ mind-blowing to you that a straight guy could _like_ me?"

"It… just doesn't make sense. To me, at the very least." 

This is infuriating. And it's not even the ignorance that hurts her the most here, but to realize that her own father thinks she isn't _likable,_ worthy of love?

 _"People_ ** _do_** _love_ _me. And maybe right now I'm a bit unapproachable, but it's because I choose to be. And I used to be a great leader, and you don't even know that, do you? You think Simon's got a crush on me? He_ ** _worships_** _me. I could ask him to do unspeakable things for me, and he'd do it. What do_ ** _you_** _know about me?"_

Grace takes a deep breath to avoid letting her emotions spill over. 

"Well, it seems not everyone thinks the way you do, Dad, _let's keep it at that_." she says with a tense smile. But her father says nothing in response, only looking at her with slight pity in his eyes. _Poor delusional Grace._ Disgusting. 

* * *

Grace comes back in as her mother is piling up wrapped gifts on the living room table.

A spoon of cake on his mouth, Simon quirks an eyebrow at her. _"What's up?"_

Grace just grimaces at him, darting her eyes back and forth between Simon and the door behind her. _"My dad."_

Simon frowns at her. _"Are you OK?"_

Grace shrugs. 

Sitting right next to Simon, Julie raises her voice. 

"What the heck are you guys doing?" she says, weirded out by their wordless way of communicating.

"Flexing our facial muscles." Grace answers coldly. 

She turns to her mother to stare at her intently. The look she gives her back is completely jaded- whatever discussion Grace just had with her father, it's nothing her mother has never seen. Without even saying a word, she goes to pour a glass of champagne and hands it to Grace. 

"...Is this how you handle everything?" Grace asks, taking the glass in her hand. 

"No, but it's how I handle a lot of things. Now why don't you sit down while I get your father so you can start opening your gifts?" 

"Sure." Grace responds as she sits down and starts quietly sipping her champagne, eyeing Simon and her sister.

* * *

She gets a new smartphone, not that she needed one. 

She gets a new laptop, not that she needed one. 

She gets a luxury dress, not that she needed one. 

She gets a new wig, not that she needed one. 

She gets a big fat envelope of cash, not that she needed one. 

The gifts keep coming and even though each bag, each box is filled with _something_ , they all feel kind of empty. Grace feels like the most typical, ungrateful and spoiled little rich brat for feeling this way about such pricey gifts, so she just smiles and performs the appropriate amount of excitement at each of them out of what she considers to be basic politeness.

Julie made her a bracelet with plastic threads, beads and glitter. It's kind of an abomination. She gives it to Grace the way an official would deliver a Nobel prize, and Grace loves it. 

Simon shuffles in his chair awkwardly. 

"It's OK if you don't have anything, I know your budget is tight-" Grace tries to reassure, but Simon interrupts her with the wave of his hand, his head shaking.

"No, that's not it, I do have a gift, it just… feels kind of _lame_ in comparison?" he says, embarrassed. 

"I'll judge that myself." Grace says warmly.

Anxious, Simon goes to retrieve something in his bag. Even though the package is wrapped, it's pretty clear it's a canvas. He hesitantly hands it to Grace who immediately but carefully starts tearing off the wrapper. 

Looking at the piece, she's taken aback. It's a portrait. Her portrait. But the average onlooker wouldn't be able to tell. 

Grace isn't all that well versed in the plastic arts, but she can tell Simon used different types of paints, as well as glue, paper, sand and ashes. 

The painting portrays a looming, almost inhuman dark figure with bright bulging silver eyes and long dreadlocks that extend like tentacles. A blinding light comes from behind her, kind of like a lighthouse, accompanied by a contrasting dark halo. It gives her an air of godliness. Down at the bottom, a hundred of desperate arms are outstretched in her direction, hoping to reach her, but unable to. The rest of the background is filled with dark orange storm clouds. And last but not least, Grace notices the faint trace of a red wavy line on the figure's neck, now mostly covered with ashes. The whole piece is… deeply unnerving. _Grace loves it_. 

"...It's OK if you don't like it, um, I _knew_ it was a pretty risky-" Simon starts, but this time Grace is the one to cut him off. 

"I'm gonna put this up in my bedroom."

"-choice and I- Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously!" Grace says with a bright chuckle. "I think it looks sick. Julie, what do you think?"

She flips the painting around so her family can see it. Her father looks mostly indifferent, if a bit weirded out, her mother is seriously staring at the thing, probably looking for meaning, while her little sister makes different exaggerated faces at the painting. 

"It looks scary. I really like the clouds, but I think they would have looked a lot friendlier if you hadn't used so much black." Julie says confidently. 

"I'll keep that in mind for my next piece." Simon answers with a gentle smile. Given how extremely relieved by Grace's reaction he seems to be, he probably was feeling extremely anxious about showing it to her, and her reaction really is all that matters to him. 

Politely, she thanks everyone and gives her whole family a kiss, then when she gets to Simon, she decides to give him a hug. 

_"Thanks for the painting. Really."_ she whispers in his ear. Simon just smiles back at her.

* * *

The rest of the night is predictable- as Julie almost singlehandedly finishes eating the birthday cake, only slightly helped by Simon, Grace sets up her new phone and laptop, and drinks maybe a little too much champagne in the process to drown out her father's speech about the devices' specs. 

Then, Julie's increasingly insisting yawns indicate it may be time to wrap things up, so her mother and Grace send her to bed with a kiss on the forehead, but not before the little girl hugs Simon and gives him two good pats on the head. He takes them like a champ.

* * *

"Are you gonna be fine, going to work after this?" Grace asks Simon as he's walking to the front door. 

"Actually, I asked for a day off in anticipation for tonight, though this was a lot less exhausting than I expected." 

"I'm really glad you came, you know." Grace says, fiddling with her hands. Simon blushes. 

"...Well, i-it's the least I could do. I don't - I'm not- argh." he blabbers. 

Grace smiles at him encouragingly. 

"…I have a hard time determining what's appropriate with you, how much distance I should put between us. For both your comfort and mine. But if I can even just… be your friend? That would make me very happy." he says as he slowly walks out. 

Grace feels a wave of gratefulness wash over her. He's actually putting effort into this. 

But then, from the corner of her eye, she notices her father in the hallway, watching the two of them talk, and suddenly she feels like her blood is boiling. On a whim, she decides to follow Simon into the front lawn.

"Is everything OK?" he finally says softly after reaching the street, turning to face her. 

Grace observes his face. His ponytail really changes the way it's framed, and actually seeing his big scar on display like that, she's not as weirded out by it as she thought she'd be. If anything, it's sort of _comforting_ , like a clear physical sign that he's a different person from the one he used to be, though it feels a bit cruel to reduce such a traumatic wound to just a visual aid. 

Then Grace thinks about her dad, who's most likely watching them from a distance, and she feels rage. It's coursing through her veins, her nerves, her spine, her muscles. It's like her whole mind and body are on fire. 

"Simon." she finally says softly as she inches forward. 

Simon stares at her straight in the eyes, only nodding slightly. " _Yes_." he whispers. 

"I'm about to do something unspeakably cruel to you. Please don't be mad."

And then she kisses him. 

Her hands on the sides of his face, she suddenly yet gently presses her lips against his. 

Simon is helplessly confused for a bit, and then slowly, he hesitantly moves his arms up to let his hands rest on the small of Grace's back.

The kiss itself isn't aggressive, but it feels like being hit by lightning, and while Grace definitely doesn't look like she dislikes the experience, it can't be compared to the magnitude of the wave of emotions that's washing over Simon right now, especially as she sneakily slips her hand to his ponytail and removes the hair tie, setting his hair loose. 

For a moment, he's hesitant to do anything in response- she's not kissing him because she likes him, but because she has something to prove. That thought stings, but Simon's grateful Grace was somewhat honest about it, and after having taken in the situation a bit more, he musters up the courage to kiss her back. Grace is surprised by it for only a fraction of a second, then she lets herself get carried away. She made the decision to kiss Simon purely out of spite, but now she's finding comfort she didn't expect in his embrace. It's warm, reassuring, and kind of sad. Finally breaking away from his face, Grace wraps her arms around his shoulders and buries her face in his hair. Slowly, Simon moves his arms up to hug her back a bit more tightly. 

"Well now, whose birthday really is this?" he says with a sad smile. 

_"Sorry."_ Grace whispers. 

_"I'll live. What's going on?"_ Simon whispers back. 

_"My ego is what."_

_"Did something shitty happen with your dad?"_

Grace moves her head away to stare at Simon in the eyes. 

"You're too perceptive for your own good."

He smiles. 

"I try." 

Grace sighs. 

"I just needed to know- to _see_ and _feel_ that I'm really as… as good as I think I am. And I guess I kinda proved myself the opposite by using you as an ego boost." 

"Did you see me complain? You can ego-boost as much as you want." Simon reassures, raising his eyebrows. 

Grace smirks at him.

"We'll see about that. Thank you for not getting upset at me, I acted pretty selfishly."

Grace's eyes dart to try and look behind her, but she doesn't dare to turn her head. 

_"Is my dad still there?"_ she asks even more quietly than before. 

"Yeah, I think he's waiting for you at the door."

"Ugh, OK." she says with a grimace. 

Grace looks at Simon in the eyes again. He looks tired, but not sad or unhappy. The ponytail did look nice on him still, but there's something weirdly entrancing about the way his now ridiculously long hair falls on his shoulders when let loose. 

Almost shamefully, Simon asks after hesitating for a bit: "Can I kiss you again?" 

"...No." Grace says after 3 seconds of reflection. 

"Okay, fair enough." Simon says with a smile, a bit disappointed. 

Grace takes a deep breath. 

"...Actually, you know what, _fuck that_ , I change my mind." she retorts with her brows furrowed and a crooked smile. This _is_ her birthday. She's allowed to indulge. 

Staring down a slightly blushy Simon as she raises her chin a bit, Grace closes her eyes, and after a few seconds of hesitation, she feels Simon's lips crash against hers with emotion. It's a bit sad how much he likes her, Grace thinks, but she can hardly pretend she doesn't like him back at least a _little_ bit. Even though she feels like he's definitely not someone she should be enticing herself with, if there's one thing Grace loves, it's _being_ loved, and it's hard to fight against such a nice feeling, no matter how selfish it might make her feel. 

Softly, as they part, Simon moves to kiss the tip of her nose, the same way she used to kiss his when they were kids. 

"Thank you," he says, putting his bag over his shoulder, "it was nice dining with you and your family. Happy birthday to you, Grace." 

She smiles and waves as Simon starts walking away. 

"Happy birthday to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest chapter back when I wrote it, and then I went on to write even longer ones. Also, good lord, the art! So much of it! My addiction to visual mediums will be the death of me. I'm very glad I drew all this, though, there's so much just a few wrinkles on someone's face can convey that words can't. I'll leave you for now with this parting gift- a closeup of that Big Damn Kiss. See you next chapter!  
> 


	11. Chapter 11

Grace is in a bit of a confused state- she doesn't know where she is, but she's not _lost_. It's just her and Simon in this place, holding one another. How did they get here? Grace can't remember. All she knows is that it feels nice. The embrace is warm, welcoming, almost liquid, like they could both try and hug the other tighter and tighter and never reach a limit, because they just complement each other so well. She doesn't even know where her body ends and where his begins. It feels so nice. When she looks down, she realizes she really _can't_ tell- it's like something that's not supposed to be seen, something impossible and obscene. Fusion beyond human understanding. Her brain can't compute it, but she doesn't mind. They're just so good together. She doesn't want to let go, because it all just feels so, so, so very good… 

And then she wakes up. 

Shooting up like an arrow, dazed, she then stays still for a few seconds, slowly coming to her senses. The moment she finally processes a sliver of whatever the hell is going on there, she covers her face in shame. When was the last time this even happened to her? Scratch that, did something like _this_ ever really happen to her? She's had weird dreams all right, horny ones even on a few occasions, but for some reason this is just so, so much worse. There's something about metaphysical, metaphorical brain bullshit that seems just so much more shameful than a simple, straightforward, plain wet dream. Like, it's one thing to like Simon's character, another to be attracted to him, but to desire this kind of intimacy with him? _And_ she's gonna have to spend the rest of the day with this on her mind? What is she supposed to do, try to analyse that with her therapist? No, fuck that noise, no way in hell is Grace ever bringing that up to another living soul.

"Gross, gross, gross." she mumbles as she storms out of her room and into the nearest bathroom and gets into the shower without even removing her T-shirt or underwear. 

"This is gonna hurt, but this is for your own good." Grace says to herself through gritted teeth as she reaches for the shower knob to turn it all the way to the coldest setting.

A few rooms over, Julie is woken up by the distant sound of her older sister's pained yelling. When she peeks out of her room, she sees Grace come out of the bathroom, soaking wet and shivering, her body wrapped in several towels to warm herself up. 

"Are you-" Julie starts. 

"Don't ask." Grace responds grimly, marching towards her own room and leaving little wet footprints behind her.

* * *

It's funny, before the train, Grace used to be really bad with names, but after years of taking care of a whole troop of kids, well… Remembering names wouldn't be the hardest part about becoming a teacher. And so she learns everyone's names at the dance studio faster than she expects, probably because they're all so fun to be with. Most of them are older than her but don't patronize her, which is nice, and the few that are around her age don't seem judgmental either. 

"You're graduating from high school in a month? Congratulations!" says Andy, a tall asian dancer in his mid-twenties she's been practicing with. He's _extremely_ good at quickstep, something Grace has a lot of trouble with, so she's been taking advice from him a lot lately. 

"Yeah, can you believe it? I don't even know what I'm gonna do once I'm done, but hey, check that off the list, right?" Grace says as she's trying to mimic the steps Andy is showing to her. 

"I hope that you at the very least will keep dancing, even if you move away to go to a good college, 'cause you are learning at a really good pace, it'd be a shame to let that potential go to waste." 

"Haha, I'm trying not to let it get to my head, I can already see the plateau I'm about to hit, but thanks for the compliment. And to be honest, it's not like I have much else to do." 

"You say it like it's nothing- I'll have you know you still need to work on your polka chassés."

"I- OK, yes, but do you have any idea how fast you are? How am I supposed to keep up with _that_?" 

"You're blaming me for my talent?" 

"She's not entirely wrong, you know, you make all your quickstep partners look like ragdolls, Andy!" Grace can hear Alana shout from the other side of the room. 

"What's the point of quickstep if not to be as fast as possible? It's literally _in the name!_ " Andy protests. 

"I believe chemistry, poise and technique are also a big part of the game, dear." says Walter, a charming old man who's practicing tango by himself next to them. He winks at Grace before twirling away in the opposite direction to give them space. 

"Unbelievable. Can you hear this Grace? I'm being bullied by boomers."

Grace chuckles. "Absolutely outrageous." she says.

"They're lucky they're only getting low-effort-Andy right now because of work, but I swear to God, once I'm getting better hours at the office, I am going to _crush_ you all. MARK MY WORDS!"

"What are even 'good hours' for you? Aren't you a dental technician?" 

"You don't know what waking up at 5AM does to a man's morale, Grace. You just don't. Why would anyone want to get their teeth checked at like 7AM?! Don't they have _lives_?" 

"Maybe they're seeing you early so they _can_ get on with their lives." 

"Pshhh, preposterous, life starts at 2PM, and I'm being generous here. Work in the morning should be abolished." 

Grace laughs. "Maybe so. It's nice to dream." 

"Alright, now, from the top." Andy says, pulling her to get them both to a good starting spot. 

They don't exactly have a full-on routine, but Grace is used to Andy's way of moving and practicing enough to follow him and match his steps instinctively… Or at least, she is, _most of the time._

This time apparently is a good one- Grace stumbles a few times, and although she sure as hell can't match his agility and grace, she can for once keep up with Andy's speed. _Nice._

"Now again, who's a bad teacher, huh? Tell me you would have made the same progress with someone else." 

"Alright, I'll admit it- but just so you wait, I'm gonna keep training and get better than you one day!" 

"Hmm… I'd accept this challenge, were it not for the fact that we're two different sides of a pair, and therefore not entirely comparable. But… you can _maybe_ hope to someday approach my level enough to be able to pair up with me for competitions, who knows?" 

"Wow, I hope you don't snap your neck sucking your own dick so hard."

"Grace!" Andy exclaims after gasping dramatically, acting fakely offended. "Such a foul mouth, my, my!" 

"I've earned it." Grace responds casually, crossing her arms. She's impressed at herself for getting close enough to Andy to have the right to be this familiar with him. 

"Huh, you actually have." he notes. "Alright, let's do it again, see if I can make you trip once or twice." Andy adds mischievously as he's walking to the other side of the room to get in position. Grace smiles. Here we go.

* * *

Grace's dance sessions are exhausting, so when Simon texts her the next day to spend some time together, they agree to stay in his apartment to just chill instead of their usual, often over 3-hour-long walk in the city. 

"Can you do animals?" Grace asks Simon as she's lying down with her arms crossed behind her head on his newly purchased carpet. It's fun to see his face upside down. 

"Like, mimic them, or-?" he says as he takes his eyes off his sketchbook to look at her. 

"As in, _draw_ them." Grace responds, an amused smile on her face.

"Mmh… I'm not sure, I'm kinda sucky with like… farm animals. Oh, but I _can_ do dogs, I'm pretty sure." 

"Well, c'mon then, show me." Grace says excitedly as she sits up, turns back in Simon's direction and crosses her legs. He smiles awkwardly in response and scoots over to give her a better look on his sketchbook as he starts drawing the outline of a dog.

"What is that, a labrador?" 

"Yeah, I like labradors." 

"Do a dachshund."

"Okay."

"Now how about a bulldog?"

"...Like this?" 

"Mh… Your labs are better."

"Well, I draw those more often."

"Why, is your _fursona_ a labrador?" 

"...No." Simon says, half a second too late. 

"Oh my god." 

"I- _no_." 

"I can't believe it." 

"You have no proof."

"Your _denial_ is proof." 

"I'm also denying being the descendant of Joan of Arc, doesn't mean I secretly _am_." 

"I don't know your family tree, you _could_ be." Grace says with a shrug. 

"Oh my god." Simon says, bringing his hand to his face. 

"You are not living this down, ever." 

"I don't have a fursona." 

"It's too late, even if you didn't before, you have now thought of it. You _have_ a fursona, he's a cream-colored labrador retriever, and he may or may not like belly rubs." 

"Shut up. Shut up. None of what you just said is true." 

"Really?" 

"First of all, I'm more of a borzoi kinda guy. _Second of all-_ " 

"So you _do_ recognize-" 

"Shut up." 

Grace starts laughing. Teasing Simon about anything and everything is always a fun activity. Rolling his eyes at her, he still can't repress a smile.

* * *

"And a one, a two, a three and a- now wait a second!" Andy mumbles. 

"What?" Grace says. 

The young man lets go of her and steps back 10 feet. They've been practicing every evening for the past four days. 

"Do the thing again." 

"I- OK?" 

Grace repeats the steps she was doing with Andy before, only now without his guidance, not that it matters much given she's memorized them to a T. 

"Okay, okay- AH! **THERE**!" Andy exclaims. 

"What?" 

"You always mess up the seventh step, I don't know why. They're all the same, maybe it's got something to do with your rhythm?" 

"What- no, I'm pretty sure all my steps are equally standard here."

"Turn around and do them in front of the mirror." Andy orders. Rolling her eyes, Grace relents and repeats the steps. 

"...Oh, _shit_." 

" _Now_ do you believe me?" 

"Why does it look like I'm about to crash at the seventh step in this sequence?" Grace mutters, glaring at her reflection. 

"You tell me! I have no idea."

"Maybe it's the speed?" Grace suggests as she turns to look at Andy. "Hang on, let me do it at a slower pace." 

Grace spends the remainder of the evening trying to fix that step sequence, to no avail. When she's doing it slowly, it's just fine, but the second she tries to do it at a faster pace, she messes up the seventh step. 

"This is so weird." she mumbles as she steps out of the studio with Andy.

Even though she knows how early the sun sets at this time of the year, she's surprised by how dark it is out there. 

"I don't have a clue as to why this is happening specifically. Like, sure, you're a newbie, but this doesn't really seem to correlate to anything in particular. Like you said… weird." Andy muses. 

"You don't have to rub it in." 

"Let me have this, will you? We almost never get new dancers. Here, I'll make it up to you- I'll buy you a drink." 

Grace snorts. They both know she really doesn't need anyone to pay for her. 

"Alright," she says with a smirk, "I do need to unwind a bit."

* * *

There aren't that many people here tonight, but the atmosphere is actually pretty comfortable- the music isn't too loud, the lights aren't too bright, and Andy seems pretty sweet.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks after sitting next to her at the bar. 

"Mh, I'm usually not too big on alcohol, but I guess a mojito would be nice." she says as she sends her mother a text to tell her not to wait for her to eat dinner. 

"Just a beer for me, thanks." Andy tells the barman who just smiles and nods. 

Andy seems transfixed by her. Grace doesn't know if she should come out to him yet- or at all. He appears to be at least a bit interested in her, but she has no idea if it's the kind of interest that leads to any kind of romantic relationship, and she'd rather not complicate things right away. Right now, they're just friends at a bar, having a nice drink. 

"Sooo…" Andy starts while clinking his nails against his glass, "...not to get into the meat of things right away like a savage, but I'm genuinely curious- how does a nice, smart girl from an apparently pretty wealthy family end up graduating from high school at age 21?"

Grace silently sips her mojito, which as it turns out is actually the kind of stuff she likes. How bold should she be? 

"Would you believe me if I told you I was kidnapped and then raised in a cult for my entire adolescence?" 

Andy's eyebrows almost jump off his face. 

"Uh… WOW, OKAY, I did **not** expect that!" 

"What were you thinking?" 

"Honestly, my two main running theories were: either you're a recovering addict, or you're CIA."

Grace snorts and almost inhales some of her mojito. " _'Wow'_ indeed! No, no, I'm… I'm actually just a pretty average, ordinary girl who found herself in extraordinary circumstances. Or maybe it was the opposite? Who knows."

"Shit. Can you tell me-" 

"You wouldn't know about it even if I told you the name, and I'd rather not talk too much about it. All you need to know is, it was pretty weird and fucked up and I'm very glad to be where I am today." Grace says and starts stirring her mojito and crushing the ice some more. 

"Damn, OK, yeah. You're a survivor!" Andy says enthusiastically, throwing an arm in her direction. 

"You could put it like that." Grace says with a smirk, taking another sip. 

It's kind of a relief, letting information about her slip out so easily. Andy has no clue what size the iceberg he's getting a glimpse of really is, but at least he's looking at it. 

"Alright, it's only fair I spill some beans in return. What do you wanna know?" he says after huffing dramatically. 

"I don't know, whatever you wanna share? I'm not picky, and 'cultist' is a pretty tough act to follow."

"Gotcha, gotcha… Well, it all started in the year of our lord 1995 and- nah, I'm not gonna do that." 

Grace chuckles. 

Andy clears his throat. 

"Alright, so, when I was a kid, I did all those activities, right? My parents were the kind who sign their kids up to _everything_ , because _of course_ their kid is gonna grow up to be a gold medalist, a fireman, a lawyer, and also create the cure for cancer, you get me?"

"Yeah."

"So one day, I'm skiing on a black piste in the Alps-" 

"-as one does." 

"-as one does, yes. And some fucking idiot is like… Stopped. Standing still. In the middle of the fucking way. On one of the steepest fucking slopes. I'll let you guess what happens next." 

"My god." 

"Now, mind you, I'm a good chunky boy. Or, well, I used to be. So, I collide with this dumbass at full speed, do some accidental sick flips in the process, and I crash like a fuckin' idiot next to a bunch of trees."

He takes a long sip of beer while holding his hand up for dramatic effect.

"Problem is, one, that asshole stands up unharmed, all cool and fine and just zooms away on his little douche skis without checking if I was alright after yelling _'BITCH!'_ , and two, my right leg was about… 4 inches longer than it used to be." 

"Oh _no._ " 

"So, long story short, I got a dislocated knee. Now, mind you, at the time, I was like. A taekwondo buff, I was also uuuh, into soccer, baseball, getting into judo and capoeira, and just… Yeah, nah, it wasn't gonna happen anymore." 

"I'm sorry, that must've been real hard for you." 

"Oh no, here's the thing- I was _relieved_."

"Really?" 

"Yeah! Like, yeah of course, I was a little disappointed I couldn't kick the asses of people I didn't like at training anymore, because it was very cathartic, but it was all just so much, and with so many expectations piled on me. And I didn't want to half-ass shit. So I quit!"

"And now…?"

"Well, it's been like twenty years since then, so my knee recovered, I had to learn like five different languages in high-school to compensate for dropping all that cool jock shit, and then I dumped med school for a more basic course, because why would I bother wasting over ten years of my life to become a fancy doctor when I could work in orthodontics after barely two years of college and still make plenty of money."

"That's… a pragmatic way of looking at things." 

Andy shrugs. 

"My parents mostly care about money, and they can still brag about me working in the medical field. It's a win-win. In the end, I really got into Dancesport because I can get pretty competitive when I'm pumped up, and also because I really wanted to wholeass at least _one_ thing." he says, holding up a finger. 

Grace smiles. She probably wouldn't have liked Andy had she met him under other circumstances, but he seems like a good person to be around. Something about that weird mix of childishness and down-to-earth attitude is surprisingly endearing. He's definitely got layers.

" _Just like Shrek_." Grace mumbles. 

"...What?" Andy reacts, confused. 

"Oh, sorry, I wasn't- I was thinking about you having layers." 

"Oh- oh! That's funny!" he says and starts laughing. 

Grace doesn't ask for another drink and, when she starts gathering her stuff after Andy is finished paying, he gently taps on her shoulder. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." 

"It was nice talking to you, Grace. You're funny. And you've got potential as a dancer."

"Why, thank you, I also think you're nice to talk to, funny and have _potential_." Grace answers immediately.

Andy puts a hand on his heart and feigns pain. 

"Argh, fuck, you got me. Alright, maybe I'll tease you less during lessons." 

"No, no, it's cool, I like adversity." 

"Well, not too much I hope." 

Grace raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

"Listen, how about… we see each other again outside of dance? How does a movie date sound?"

No response. 

"...Grace?"

* * *

Grace thinks about the kiss. She's still so mad at herself for what she did that night, she wishes Simon had been the one to kiss her out of the blue, then she could just blame it all on him instead. But no, she just _had_ to be gross and be the one to initiate it, and for bad reasons at that. At least Simon kissed her back, which is a huge comfort, but it also makes Grace feel guilty. Like she's taking advantage of him. But is it really 'taking advantage' if she likes it too? _Argh_.

Sometimes Grace feels broken, like most people are wired a certain way, and she isn't one of them. She reads romance novels and can't relate to any of the emotions that were poured into the ink. The interactions feel fake, over-acted. Problem is, she feels that way about real-life relationships a lot too. 

"I think most relationships are based on a misunderstanding," Simon had said to her one night over the phone, "and when people start clearing up the misconceptions they have about the other, well… They're either flexible to the point of being able to suddenly love a completely different person, or they have to split. That, or they just keep hiding their personal truths from one another."

Grace had doubted that everyone would have hidden sides as extremes as the both of them do, but Simon's words had nonetheless hit really close to home, like he was onto something extra real here, at least for them.

* * *

"...Grace?" Andy repeats. 

"Uh, yeah, sure, OK!" she finally answers.

Simon's nice, but she would feel more at ease being on good terms with more than one person her age.

Quickly, she gets Andy's phone number and sends him a text so he gets hers. 

"Awesome, excellent, stupendous, what a quality choice, you'll _never_ regret it." Andy says enthusiastically, giving her finger guns. In his joy, he spontaneously decides to chug the rest of his beer, then makes a satisfied, very high-pitched sound. What an oddball.

* * *

Grace goes to bed fearing what her brain will make up for the night, but when she wakes up the next day, she doesn't remember any of her dreams, only the distant smell of ozone.

* * *

"You're making friends?" Simon comments as he's pushing his sketchbook away to avoid getting coffee on it. "That's nice."

"Yeah, as it turns out dance is a surprisingly good way to connect with people when they're not petty pre-teens." Grace responds. "Like, okay, Nadiya is more on the low-key and chill side, so I always try to pair up with her when I'm feeling tired, but Andy… Man. That guy so outrageously arrogant it's actually really invigorating and motivating to be around him. He just can't shut his mouth." 

"Sounds like a fun guy to be around!" Simon answers as he brings his cup of Starbucks coffee to his lips. Grace had just convinced him to get some stuff there before spending the afternoon lazing around at his place. There's just something incongruous and funny to her about seeing Simon ordering coffee at a Starbucks. 

"Oh yeah, yeah, and he's really nice and handsome too!" Grace answers over-enthusiastically "I'm actually going on some kind of date with him on Friday." 

Simon puts his cup down and frowns. 

"Are… Are you trying to make me… jealous?" he asks hesitantly. 

"I don't know, is it working?" Grace says with a snort, hiding a mischievous smile behind her fingers.

Simon pouts. "...Yes." he reluctantly admits.

Grace laughs. "You're so predictable. So easy to tease." 

"You're playing with fire, you know?" Simon says, a worried look in his eyes. "Play with fire and you'll get burned." 

"Doing what, seeing other people? Are you worried about Andy as a person or are you _threatening_ me, drama boy?" 

"What- _no!_ You're allowed to do whatever you want, see whoever you want, but framing it like that is just… Ugh, nevermind."

"Alright, I get it, you're _sensitive_ , I won't tease you like that again…" 

"Thank you." 

"... much."

"God damn it." 

Grace laughs. Too easy. 

As Simon keeps rolling his eyes at her, he almost spits out his coffee when he reads a text he just received. 

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." he grumbles after swallowing with difficulty. 

"What is it?" 

"The delivery man who apparently didn't bother ringing my doorbell this morning is now telling me to go pick up my package quickly at someone else's house. This is unreal." 

"What's in it?" 

"A new soldering iron-" Simon says as he's frantically putting on a coat while trying to tie his shoes at the same time, "I've been getting back into electronics and stuff."

"Oh, sweet!" 

"Yeah, might as well put all my skills to use, somehow. Hey, do you mind if I leave you here for a bit, just the time to run and get this thing?" 

"Sure, no problem. Unlike you, I have social media to distract myself with." 

"Nice try, but you can't hurt me over stuff I'm not ashamed of, Miss Monroe." 

Chuckling, Grace waves Simon goodbye as he gently closes the door behind him then starts bolting down the street like a maniac. He wasn't kidding about wanting that thing. 

Opening her phone to look at her twitter notifications, it only takes her 5 seconds to get distracted by the sight of Simon's abandoned sketchbook right next to her. 

"...Well, if he didn't want me to see it, then he wouldn't have let it right here for me to check out." she justifies to herself. 

Putting down her phone and picking up the sketchbook, she starts flipping through the pages in reverse, going from his freshly drawn quick Grace portraits and dogs to older sketches. There's a lot of flowers, which contrast a lot with the occasional technical drawings of what she assumes to be different parts of electronic devices. There's also a lot of torn pages, which Grace can only assume were either so bad they needed to be removed, or so good Simon wanted to separate them from the rest. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she picks up a piece of printer paper, puts it over one of the pages following a torn one, and starts gently filling in the page with a pencil to try and see if she can get a look at a negative image of the removed pages, just like she read in a detective story she can't remember the name of. 

Sadly, while she definitely manages to get some kind of imprint on some pages, it's just not well-defined enough for her to get a sense of what the hell she's looking at. So much for cool detective tricks.

In the end, it doesn't really matter, because as Grace reaches the end of the sketchbook, there's a whole section of uninterrupted sketches with not a single page torn out. There's still flowers, of course, but the deeper Grace delves into the sketchbook, the more flowers substitute for drawings of her. 

Some of them are innocent, like rough sketches of her face when she comes to visit Simon- she can even determine the date some of them were drawn on as she recognizes a few of the outfits and wigs she was wearing those times. Some of the sketches feel distant, almost clinical, while the more recent ones feel more outwardly… _loving_. But then, as she flips pages, she sees how so many of them aren't. What Grace at first identifies as what might be drafts for the painting Simon gave her get grimmer and grimmer as she flips through pages and turns back time. The focus on her eyes, on her neck, and then here come the hands and- oh. 

The last page. 

A bouquet of orchids. 

Grace stays still for a minute. Closing her eyes. Breathing. Thinking. 

Finally, she decides to stand up and look around- Simon must have more sketchbooks than just this one, and he doesn't have any room to hide them. It only takes her about thirty seconds of rummaging around Simon's desk to find them. 

She freezes for a moment when her fingers touch the cover of one of the older sketchbooks. It's one thing to look at the one Simon left in front of her, it's another to intrude and look at all the other ones that were definitely not meant for anyone to look at. 

But the temptation is too great, Grace's morbid curiosity is stronger than her moral urge to respect Simon's privacy here. 

"I don't know what I expected." she mumbles to herself as she goes through the sketchbooks in what she assumes to be the reverse chronological order. The further she goes back in time, the more erratic and violent the art gets. Even if the main subject's features are often hard to distinguish, there's no question as to who Simon is drawing. All that turmoil and anger, that love and that anxiety, all that hatred… they could only ever be directed at her.

Looking at this, a side of Grace feels vindicated- of course Simon would draw that kinda crap, he's a fucking creep. But then, when she gets to a page in the middle of Simon's third most recent sketchbook, another side of her that couldn't even bring itself to feel hurt by this trashy art feels a searing pain looking at an impossibly messy sketch simply labelled 'self-portrait'. 

None of the endless lists of pedantic words Grace ever learned while reading like her life depended on it all those years are enough to describe it. It's raw, rough, disgusting and abject and barely even recognizable as a human, and in spite of the caption, Grace feels like this is the most accurate portrait she's ever seen of _herself_. What is this? What does it mean about Simon? About _her?_

She stays frozen like that for what feels like an eternity, hypnotized by the sketchbook, no longer turning pages. Suddenly, she feels like the eldritch horrors of H.P Lovecraft's novels are a whole lot more relatable now. Only the buzz of her smartphone manages to finally break her out of her trance- shit, how long exactly has Simon been gone for now? 

Frantically, she gathers up all the sketchbooks she dug up, closes them, and puts them back in the drawer she found them in. Here's another conversation she really doesn't want to have now. Flipping through Simon's last sketchbook, she puts the most recent page he drew all those dogs on to the front again. It'll be like nothing ever happened. 

…God, what the fuck. What the fuck. 

About five minutes later, the front door opens and Simon is red in the face and out of breath as he comes in, his package under an arm. He's wearing a big smile and Grace tries her best to match it. 

"I'm assuming you had to run a little faster than you predicted, huh?" she says nervously. 

"Well, I'm probably never ordering through this website again. It was a whole ordeal, but not crazy enough for it to be entertaining to tell you about, just enough to be a huge pain in my ass. But hey, new soldering iron!" Simon says joyfully, opening the box in front of her. 

"You know, I think I'm gonna leave you to it, you probably have a lot of projects you want to get to now." 

"I don't mind you watching." 

"Well, i-it's… I…" Grace stammers. 

Simon glares at her in confusion for a moment, then his eyes light up in understanding. 

"...Oh, you just want an excuse to avoid making me feel bad about you going home. Uuuh… It's OK, you know, you don't need a reason, you're allowed to have your own space, I'm not gonna get upset." 

"I… Thanks." Grace mumbles. 

Picking up her coat and phone, she turns to Simon, who's already pulling boxes of electronics from under his bed. 

"So… you're really into this stuff?" 

Simon smiles. 

"Yeah, _really_. You know, I kinda shut myself off from everything after I recovered, so it's nice to allow myself to have fun doing things I'm actually good at, for once. Like I've told you before, it's like I'm building myself back up as a person all over again." he says with a certain fondness in his voice. 

" _Block by block_." Grace echoes. 

"Right." 

"...I wonder what the end result will look like." 

Simon laughs. 

"Well, you'll just have to wait around to find out."

Grace just stands still for a moment and nods silently before saying goodbye as she leaves the apartment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just kept adding more and more things to this chapter because there was a lot I wanted for Grace before getting to another Simon POV chapter. She's such a fun and interesting character to play with!  
> I don't know how readers will respond to Andy- he's personally very dear to me, something about arrogant yet friendly characters (what I like to call the 'Papyrus type').  
> Also, if you like to draw, you are cordially invited to try you hand at designing Simon's hypothetical borzoi fursona, I just find the idea hilarious. Not pictured here are joke doodles I made of a no-train Simon having some cartoon related channel where he has a dog rantsona. The potential is endless.


End file.
